


Path of the Dreamwalker

by Kyndred_Raven (Ravenna_Corvin)



Series: Chronicles of the Fateshapers [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship/Love, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenna_Corvin/pseuds/Kyndred_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[CHAPTER 10 POSTED!]Scarred by war, torn apart by conflict, and tormented by chaos, Thedas is falling into shadow. The land's destiny has been broken, and there is only one who can reshape it and set things back on course. Mortals fight for power while ancient Gods fight to be remembered. Can one broken Templar's wish change the flow of time? (Cullen x F!Inquisitor) (Solas x F!Inquisitor)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! It's good to be back and writing. Unfortunately, with so much college work I've hardly had time to do much at all. However, I just finished my first playthrough in DA:I and I absolutely had to get started on the third segment of my series "Chronicles of the Fateshapers". I've been planning out this series for over a year now, and though things have been moving a little slow, I think I finally have all the pieces I need to finish the saga.
> 
> In regards to DA:I, there's still a few things I'm trying to pull together. It's tough without a Wiki, so if you spot any inaccuracies - sorry! - I will try to fix them as soon as I figure them out.
> 
> Book I - The Griffon's Cry
> 
> Book II - The Saarebas
> 
> Book III - Path of the Dreamwalker
> 
> A note - you don't have to read the first and second stories to read this one. I have made an effort to make them all connected but somewhat independent of each other so that readers can read whatever part they like. However, if you are interested, I will be updating those three stories simultaneously as I write this one. All feedback is highly appreciated and inspires me to work harder, so please drop me a line if you've got a second :)
> 
> What is this?
> 
> This is NOT a rehash of the game's cannon events. This is my own original take on the story with various branching of the main plot. Certainly, some things will remain cannon, but I wanted to take the story in a slightly different direction and give the characters more room to grow and deveop. My hope is to provide an original read that will (hopefully) be enjoyable for veterans of the game and fanfiction readers. Nobody wants to read the same plot over and over again, right?
> 
> ...
> 
> WARNING: Spoilers will be present for events for all three games.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware, but all original characters are mine :)

 

* * *

**9:40 Dragon**

* * *

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Knight Commander Cullen, we searched the western ruins."

"And?"

"No survivors. Everything's been obliterated."

"And the north?"

"Still covered in debris. We have men posted trying to loosen up some rubble. Perhaps someone was trapped inside..."

"Good. Carry on, then." Cullen waved to dismiss his scout, his gaze lingering after him as he returned to his duties. He didn't have the heart to tell the man that his efforts were likely wasted. The fragile hope in the young man's eyes - on all his soldiers' faces - pained him. He'd seen a part of the explosion from a distance. Even from miles away, the ground had trembled. He doubted anyone could have survived this mess. And to think that he'd nearly been present at the Conclave. He raised his hand and rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. Death - it seemed to follow him like a plague wherever he went. First, at the Circle in Ferelden, then the tragedy at Kirkwall, and now this.

_Maker, why? Not all Mages followed your way, but the Templars did. And the Divine...to allow Most Holy to die like this..._

He glanced at his reflection in his shield, rubbing the most recent scar on his face. Not too long ago, he'd taken part in a vicious conflict between his own Order and a group of Mages. He'd tried to stop his comrades from attacking the casters who they'd found on a patrol. The Mages were refugees fleeing from persecution. He'd pitied them, but his companions had not. Despite his express orders, they'd attacked the Mages camp and killed every single one, even a young boy who had just come into his magic. At night, dreams of the encounter still haunted him. After that, he knew that he couldn't remain a Templar, no matter what his vows and faith dictated.

"How is the search progressing?" a familiar voice asked, splintering his thoughts. He turned to see Cassandra approaching, looking about as haggard and weary as he felt. Her tanned skin was covered in dirt in some places, her armor stained with blood and ashes. She'd been with the men most of the day, turning over bodies and charred corpses in the hopes of finding a clue to what had caused this massacre. He didn't envy her; he'd done more than his share of digging through battlefields.

"You know how," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. For a moment, a heavy silence stretched between them. They were both practical and logical people. Only Leliana still insisted that there might be survivors. Perhaps they all hoped she was right, but inwardly they knew she wasn't.

"Were you praying just now?" the Seeker inquired. Cullen didn't reply, unsure of what to say. For the third time in his life, his faith had been badly shaken. He'd recovered before, but he wasn't certain that was possible any longer. The armor he wore still belonged to the Order, but his heart did not. In fact, every time he saw the crest on his shield, he wondered why he didn't just throw it away. Except that tossing it aside would mean throwing away years of service, years of devotion, and years of belief. Cassandra placed a hand on his shoulder - a firm, warrior's hand. He sensed that she understood his inner turmoil. He wondered how she was weathering this storm. She had always been strong, so much stronger than any woman he'd ever met. Not even something like the Conclave could divert her from her faith, a path she believed had been ordained by the Maker himself.

"Cassandra...I know why you're here, but I don't have an answer for you."

"Cullen..."

"Leaving this life behind isn't so simple."

"You've already left it," she observed. "You are just clinging to what you know because you are afraid of change." Not many people would have dared to say such things to his face. Cassandra was one of the few who had the right. They'd been friends for too long.

"Just give me some time to think..."

"We don't  _have_  time," she shook her head, pointing upwards. "Divine Justinia is dead, hundreds of people have been killed, whatever hope we had for peace is lost, and..." she trailed off. He looked towards the sky, where a great gaping hole hovered like an ominous void above the countryside. With each hour, it expanded, drawing more and more of the landscape into it. Rocks, land, and trees were being pulled up into the chasm. Time, she'd said. Indeed. The sight reminded him of an hourglass running backwards. "I've never seen anything like it," the Seeker murmured, her eyes shadowed.

"I have," he said gravely. "But not on this scale." Memories took him back to that day in Ferelden. He recalled the horrors he'd witnessed in the Circle Tower. Back then, he'd watched in terror as both Mages and his fellow Templars were slaughtered by demons and abominations. This light in the sky had the same eerie green glow that usually preceded the appearance of such creatures. He could feel the tingle of magic on his skin, ever present when he was in the chasm's vicinity. He'd been a Templar long enough to construct his own theory on the matter. Clearly, whatever happened here had tampered with the Veil. The only thing he didn't understand was why nothing hostile was coming through. "It's a part of the Fade," he concluded.

"What?" Cassandra asked with wide eyes.

"I can't explain it, but it seems that the Explosion didn't just damage the surroundings. It tore the Veil as well."

"An astute observation," someone cut in from behind them. Not recognizing the voice, Cullen glanced back to see a man standing a small distance away, a weathered staff in his hands. He was dressed in simple clothing, almost like a traveler. His features were hidden by a hood. Around his waist hung various vials, pouches, and something he recognized as a spell book.  _A Mage!_ Automatically, Cullen's hand flew towards his weapon, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. He would have drawn it had Cassandra not stopped him with a gesture.

"Wait, Cullen."

"Who are you?" the Commander demanded, his jaw clenching.

"My name," the stranger began as he drew down his hood,"...is Solas." The elf answered calmly, seeming unperturbed by Cullen's open discomfort.

"Apostate..."

"If that is how you wish to see me, then I cannot stop you. Hostility will not help our cause, however, and I warn you that that hole in the sky will destroy us all unless we do something quickly." There was no emotion in his voice, not even a tremor of fear. Yet the words he'd just spoken sounded like a prophecy of doom. This contradiction did nothing to reassure Cullen's suspicions; he kept his stance rigid, ready in case the stranger began to cast.

"What is the meaning of this, Cassandra?" he ground out.

"He can help us," she replied in a tone he rarely heard her use. She sounded desperate and exhausted. "None of us know what that thing will do. We need someone who understands the workings of magic."

"So you brought an  _apostate_  here?" He lowered his voice. "You know that they may well be responsible for this."

"I must say, I don't believe that's the case," the elf suggested. "Look there," he pointed to a distant spot in the crater before them, the center of the explosion. A colossal clump of what looked like oozing green crystal hung suspended by invisible strings. "That is the place where the Veil was torn. Your earlier observation was partially accurate on that account. What we are seeing is parts of the Fade pouring into our world and in return absorbing it. If we do not somehow seal that tear, then our realm will be consumed."

"You don't seem too concerned," Cullen answered.

"I assure you I am. Otherwise I would not be here."

"So tell us what you know," Cassandra demanded. "If we need to seal it, then tell us how."

"That, I cannot say. Can we not move closer to the rift itself? It might help if I could study the tear in more detail."

"Why is it so quiet?" Cullen interjected. "Shouldn't there be demons coming out of there?"

"I suspect there will be soon, which is why it's imperative that we hurry if we are to accomplish anything." He suddenly stepped forward, startling Cullen into partially drawing his weapon. As though he didn't notice the Commander's agitation, he rushed past him. For the first time since he appeared, the elf's delicate features moved into some sort of expression. In this case, grave concern. "Look. It has already begun." Cullen's eyes snapped to the center of the crater. There, the crystal began to morph and shift, giving off green sparks that resembled lightning. A silence covered the ruins. For a moment, Cullen couldn't even hear his own breathing. Then, a piercing screech nearly brought him and Cassandra to their knees, the sound so ear-splitting that he thought his skull would crack with the intensity. The Mage didn't waver. He stood tall and serene, his demeanor giving no hint to his emotions.

"What's going on?" Cassandra shouted over the growls and shrieks that followed. The wind picked up speed, pelting Cullen's face with snow and debris. The trees around them began to sway and bend. Above, the gap grew wider.

"I suspect that the tear is causing this realm to become unstable," Solas said. Cullen could barely make out his words, so powerful was the wind. He tried to shield his eyes with his hand when he saw the elf begin to cast. Fearing that his suspicions of the Mage were justified, he drew his sword with blinding speed and jumped in front of the still kneeling Cassandra. Then, as abruptly as it came, the snow and wind disappeared. Cullen stood dumbfounded for a moment until he realized that the Mage had cast a barrier around them. He saw a bubble shimmering around the three of them as the wind bent and twisted around the magical wall. Spots of bright blue appeared in the places where the snow hit it.

"Fascinating," Solas breathed. He pointed all around to various places where lightning arced from the crystals in the crater to other parts of the ruins. "The tear is trying to balance itself by creating smaller rifts in the vicinity." Either the elf was underestimating him or he was too engrossed in what he was seeing to care that Cullen had nearly run him through.

"What does that mean for us?" Cullen demanded with a frown.

"It means that you'll soon need that weapon, Commander."

* * *

.

.

.

Solas turned out to be correct. In less than an hour, the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes were overflowing with demons of all shapes and sizes. Cullen grunted as he pulled his sword out of a shade demon, gagging when some of its blood splattered in through the visor of his helmet. Behind him - one by one - his soldiers were dying. And was it any surprise? None of them were trained to fight monsters like this. Mages, perhaps. But fighting mortals wasn't the same as fighting creatures who were empty. Souless and full of rage, the monsters didn't hesitate to throw themselves at his men in droves. They feared nothing and felt nothing, spreading terror among his fighters. He tried to tune out their screams as they were cut down, focusing on staying alive.

"How do we stop this?" he muttered under his breath.

"We must reach the center," Solas shouted. Cullen still didn't trust him or his motives. The magic he used looked nothing like he'd ever seen before. Somehow, he was using some sort of force to push and pull the demons every which way. The firestorms he threw down around them weren't orange and red, but emerald and blue. He built up barriers around entire groups of soldiers without breaking a sweat; even in battle, he looked as serene as a statue. Beside him, Cassandra let out a battle cry as she rammed her shield into a greater shade, sending him toppling to the ground. Cullen took full advantage, leaping up and driving his sword down into the beast's black heart. As it hissed and turned to green ash, he whirled around and blocked a massive blow from a rage demon that would have hit Cassandra. She nodded in gratitude and sliced off one of its fiery arms.

"This is endless," she groaned, her forehead gleaming with sweat. "We need to go around this rift. At the rate that it's spitting out demons, we'll die before we make it anywhere." There was no fear in her voice, just powerful conviction. Give the Seeker a goal and she would always find a way to reach it.

"Sound the retreat," he agreed. "Tell the men to pull back. We'll find another way."

"No," Solas interrupted, his voice booming out above the chaos. "This is the fastest way to the Breach. We must take this path."

"We will die here!" Cullen snapped, furiously slashing at a demon of despair that got too close. As it fell, the rift before them seemed to take a breath. It morphed and distorted like a bubble of vile poison, folding in on itself. The flow of demons stopped. All Cullen could hear were the pained sounds of his men trying to regain their footing.

"You have no faith, Commander," Solas observed. The words stung Cullen to the core. He knew that there was no way that the Mage could have known about his inner turmoil, yet the phrase seemed to aim right at the heart of his doubts. Something was  _off_  about this man; he just couldn't understand what it was. Even through this enmity, he understood that they needed the Mage. Without magic, he and Cassandra wouldn't stand a chance. "We must go now, while its recovering. We only have moments," the elf said in a rush. Lifting his staff, he leaped over some fallen rocks with unnatural grace and bounded down the narrow hallway in front of them.

"What should we do?" Cassandra asked.

"We follow. It's not like we have much choice." He turned and gestured to his men. "Pull back! I want what's left of the company to proceed to Forward Camp. There's nothing more you can do here." As the soldiers nodded and hurried to follow orders, Cassandra stepped in front of him, her eyes unreadable. "They're just going to die for this foolishness," he grimaced. "Cassandra, I hope your plan works. This Mage better know what he's doing."

"That's not what's bothering you, is it?"

"That apostate is right. I'm not sure how much faith I have left...after everything that's happened, I - " he trailed off, standing up and squaring his shoulders.

"Then join us - me and Leliana. We need you, faith or not."

"And stand with you for something I'm not sure I believe in any more?"

"No. This isn't about the Maker or the Divine. It's about doing what is best for the people of Thedas."

"This isn't the time," he concluded. "Let's go."

In the center of the crater, at the place Solas had taken to calling "the Breach", things were even more chaotic than the smaller rifts. The storm that had picked up when the Breach first showed signs of movement had turned into a full blown maelstrom. Blinding snow and piercing wind whirled in a cyclone around the emerald crystals of the large rift, the howling so intense that Cullen could hardly hear his own thoughts. As demons assailed them, Cullen struck out with his sword and nearly missed his target. He could barely see more than a few meters in front and around him, conditions that didn't bode well for his survival.

Cullen wasn't sure how much they could accomplish with all the demons that were flooding out of the tear in the Veil. As it was, all they could do was keep fighting. At least, that's what he chose to focus on for the moment. He wasn't sure there was anything anybody could do about the tear at this point. This kind of disaster seemed so overwhelming, so unreal, that thinking about the ramifications of its consequences left him dizzy and terrified. Such emotions did not belong on the field; he knew that if he wanted to somehow live through this, he needed to keep a strong focus. He told himself that he wouldn't go down like a dog; he would die like a warrior, on his feet and only after he'd done everything he could to protect those around him. He and Cassandra stood back to back, their shields as impenetrable as battlements of a keep. Together, they protected each other from Wraiths who hurled magic their way. When they could, they emerged from their guard and struck out at larger shades and rage demons.

Strike, dodge, parry, block.

Blade, hilt, pommel, shield.

Over and over again, he repeated the movements, cutting and carving into demon flesh until each strike and each sound turned into a familiar rhythm. Claws scratched like dry branches against his armor. Some bounced off, others tore into the vulnerable seams. He smelled blood - his own or Cassandra's? There was no time to ponder it. All that existed now was the rhythm, the dance of death and the steps of the waltz to cheat it.

Strike, dodge, retaliate, riposte.

Block, cover, kick, bash.

How much time had passed? Both he and Cassandra were trained for stamina, but no warrior would be able to hold out for much longer with such overwhelming odds. He'd lost sight of Solas some time ago. He still saw his magic flying in all directions; at least he hadn't perished yet. In fact, if it wasn't for his dispelling magic, they all may have done so long ago. Though it could not affect the rifts, his dispell heavily damaged most of the lesser demons, killing some outright.

A sound caught his attention. Overhead, arrows blotted out whatever light there was as they rained down upon their foes. He heard a familiar voice crying out in the keening wind. As a wave in front of him was cut down, Cullen squinted through sweat-soaked hair and swirling snow to spot the bright red of Leliana's hair. Standing up above on a scaffold with a company of archers, she waved her arms at him with some agitation. She'd come to help them, the fool. Did she actually think any of them were going to make it through this? He saw her trying to shout something to him, but she was much too far away for him to hear a thing except a jumble of syllables. Finally, she simply pointed upwards. He followed the direction of her hand and felt his heart stop.

The Breach was opening. Just like before, the crater was suddenly drowned in an unnatural and deafening silence. The wind slowed and stopped; the snow hung in the air, moving in slow motion. It was as though time itself had stopped. Demons shrieked and wailed as they were ripped apart by unseen hands, their remains sucked back up into the tear they came from. Cullen raised his shield, preparing himself for the worst. Wider and wider the tear grew until all Cullen could see before him was darkness. Beyond, behind the thin curtain of the Veil, hundreds of eyes glowed with malice. Demons - hungry and eager for blood - prowled there, ready to strike. Cassandra said something behind him, but he was too lost in his own chaotic thoughts to understand her. Then, nothing.

Darkness took him. He felt the world tilt and shift beneath his feet, felt his body hitting something with painful force. A concussive blast, he realized. The tear had exploded again. His ears roared as though he'd been submerged into a foaming ocean in the middle of a storm. He coughed and tasted blood.  _Maker, is this my end? Is this how I will die? Without accomplishing anything at all?_  Against all odds, he did not lose consciousness. Instead, he saw the rift above him twist and shift, no doubt preparing to grow even larger.  _Will you allow this world that you created to simply fall into the darkness? Will you reward us for dedicating our lives to you by destroying all that we love?_  Disoriented and dazed, Cullen drifted through the worst memories of his life. First the Circle, then the night when the Chantry had exploded in Kirkwall. Just like then, he now felt helpless. Just like then, all he could do was watch the world he had come to love burn.

_Someone. Help us._

Within the rift, he thought he saw a shape, a figure of a woman. She had no features, for her form consisted entirely of pure golden light. Though she had no eyes, he knew she was looking at him -  _into_ him.

 _ **What would you ask of me?**_  - a voice whispered in his mind. An illusion? He no longer cared.

_Help us. Don't abandon us. Let us see the Dawn once more._

_**You have lost your faith, righteous soldier. Yet you still ask the heavens for assistance?** _

_Not for myself. For our world._  When she hesitated, he tried to lift his arm and failed. Broken. Just like the rest of him.  _Please. I do not care what happens to me. But this world must not perish._  For a long while, she stared at him; so long that he thought he might slip away before he heard a response.

_**If salvation is what you seek, then I cannot help you. But I do know of one who can. I will return the Dreamwalker to you. I hope that this time, the mortal world will not break her as it has before.** _

When she turned away and began to fade out, he cried out desperately:  _Are you Andraste? Are you the Maker? Who are you?_

_**I am what you make me...** _

_That isn't an answer! Damn it! Answer me!_

It was all he could manage before everything went dark.

* * *

.

.

.

When Cullen next opened his eyes, he saw that night had fallen over the land. Above, the Breach still hovered, larger now than he had ever seen it. He expected to feel the agony of broken bones, and was surprised when his arm obeyed his commands. After testing his limbs, he gingerly sat up then worked to stand. As he did so, piles of freezing slow slipped from his armor. He caught a glimpse of his own face reflected in the metal of his shield. The Templar crest seemed to mock him. He flinched away from the sight of it. Bitterness filled him. He'd survived yet again.

Immediately, his eyes sought out Cassandra. The scaffold above them where Leliana and her archers had stood was collapsed, now nothing but a pile of rubble. He tried to reassure himself that Leliana was alright, that she'd somehow made it out of there safely. She had been much farther from the explosion than he and Cassandra, after all. Perhaps she'd managed to slip away. He blinked a few times to clear his vision. Everything was covered in a thick layer of snow. How long had he been unconscious? Now that the battle was over and he wasn't fighting for his life, he felt the piercing cold of the weather. His fingers felt frozen, the skin on his face icy and his lips chapped. Desperate to find his companions, he called out their names.

"Cassandra! Leliana!" As he took a step forward, his leg sunk into snow that was knee-deep. That's when he spotted it - a piece of what looked like the Chantry symbol in the middle of a human sized pile of snow. Moving hurt, but considering the fact that he'd been sure that he'd suffered a fatal wound, he supposed it was manageable. Shuffling over to what looked like his friend - a woman he had known and respected for many years - he fell to his knees and brushed snow off her and her shield. Moving it aside, he noticed that she'd managed to protect herself from the brunt of the explosion. A spot of blood on her temple worried him. Careful lest she was more injured than she appeared, he shook her and called out her name. After a moment, he breathed out in relief when she groaned and opened her eyes. The hazel orbs were dull with pain.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"What...happened?" He helped her sit up then stand.

"I don't know, but it seems like the demons have disappeared."

"A miracle..." she breathed, eyes focused on the pulsing tear in the sky. Cullen hesitated. He remembered the woman of light and her words, but wasn't sure if that hadn't been some crazed hallucination. The bump on his head suggested that it might have been, but his heart wanted - needed - to believe that it was more than that. He glanced back at the rift then around the field, feeling uneasy. Whatever miracle had sealed away the demons had bought them some time. They needed to take advantage and get away.

"We need to find the others," he murmured feverishly. "Solas, Leliana, the soldiers...I don't know how long this thing will stay closed..."

"What's that?" Cassandra suddenly inquired, pointing some distance away. He followed her gesture to what looked like a faint glowing orb. As the sphere expanded, he felt adrenaline flush his veins. Not again.

"Let's move. It might be another rift." Just as he said that, the sphere popped, transforming into a tear. He raised his shield, expecting another wave of demons. Instead, an arm came through. A very human-looking arm. "What in the Maker's name...?" A shoulder followed, then a torso with a head. Everything was glowing and shimmering so much that it was hard to see what exactly the thing was.

"It looks like...a woman..."

"Impossible." Yet before Cullen's disbelieving gaze, something humanoid stepped out of the rift. One of its hands was glowing the same color as all the other rifts - an emerald green. The figure wavered on its feet for a moment before falling to the ground. The impact kicked up a cloud of snow.

"Cullen. Tell me a woman didn't just step out of that rift. Tell me I imagined it."

"If you did, then we are seeing the same dream."

"I saw it too," came a voice from beside them. Cullen whipped around to see a battered-looking Solas standing so close to them that he had to wonder how the Mage had snuck up on him without his noticing. Yet another strange thing about this man that he had to note. Whatever his proclaimed intentions, the Commander didn't trust him in the least. "It's a woman, though I can't tell if she is an elf or human."

"Could it be a demon?" Cassandra volunteered.

"Possibly," Solas answered. "It looks injured."

"Where are you going?" Cullen snapped when the elf started making his way towards the figure.

"We won't know what it is if we just stand here."

"Cassandra, stay here. If anything happens, try to find Leliana and get away." Cullen didn't wait for her to argue. His heart raced, beating so quickly that he felt short of breath. Visions of the woman made of light filled him, as did her words. The Dreamwalker, she'd said. The one who could offer Thedas its salvation.  _Impossible. Impossible._  He chanted the word like a litany in his mind with every step until a walk turned into a run. He reached her just as Solas did. He knew he should be drawing his sword, pointing it at the demon's throat, keeping his shield up in case it came alive and attacked. But it seemed that all of his instincts had fled, replaced by a delicate, fragile, thread of hope.

 _Maker, please...please..._ Cullen didn't even understand what he was asking for. A sign? Some kind of divine intervention? Evidence that the Maker hadn't abandoned them after all? What he saw instead was a small elven woman with plum black tresses that spilled down in waves to her waist. Solas had been right; she was injured. Her arm - the one with the glowing hand - was splayed open from wrist to shoulder.

"I don't understand," Solas bent down and placed his staff on the ground, running his hands in the air over the girl's unconscious form. "She is mortal, like you and me. At least, from what I can tell. However, she clearly stepped out of the rift..." his brow furrowed, "...and survived. This is... unprecedented." At that moment, the girl seemed to regain her senses. She groaned and winced as she opened her eyes. Golden eyes - like the color of the sun. Her lips moved, but Cullen did not understand what she said. The language sounded elven.

" _Uthenera...nuvenin...emma vhenan..."_  she murmured.

"What is she saying?" Cullen asked. Instead of responding, Solas whispered something to her in elven in return. They exchanged some words, the girl looking dazed and confused. As she spoke, the intricate tattoos on her face moved and shifted, looking at though they were alive. "Solas," he urged, feeling frustrated.

"She speaks of - "

"The sky is torn," the girl cut in, still dazed. "The sky has been ripped open. Is this a dream? Is this the Fade?"

"No,  _lethallan,_ " Solas replied. There was almost a softness to his words, a strange tone that Cullen never heard him use until now.

"Where is the Archdemon? I split him with my blades. I tore through him and drove him away. Have I failed?" Those words immediately caught Cullen's full attention. He looked down at her armor and frowned. She was dressed in soft blue and grey chainmail; the symbol of a griffon decorated the plates on her shoulder. The armor was battered and torn, burned in some places as though the girl had run through a fire.

"A Grey Warden," he whispered. "Is that what you are? A Grey Warden?" She shook her head, desperately trying to sit up.

"No. No. The taint isn't mine, though the duty always will be." Her voice suddenly grew panicked. Her eyes widened as though she realized something. "Anders. Justice...no, it can't be..." She looked around, pushing herself to her feet. Blood leaked in alarming quantities from her arm, but she didn't seem to feel the pain. "I failed. I tried to stop him, but...where? Where are you? Where are you? Anders!" She dropped back into elven, shouting something with such desperation and agony that Cullen thought he could feel her pain as though it was his own. He looked at Solas to try and gage his reaction, but the Mage was as unreadable as always. Cullen was at a loss. For the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do. The girl had somehow gone into the Fade in physical form and survived, but it appeared that the journey had driven her mad. None of what she said made sense. The strange glowing mark on her hand pulsed.

"What's going on here?" Hurried footsteps broke him out of his confusion. Cassandra approached at a run, stopping to kneel by his side. "Who is she?"

"It's difficult to tell," Solas answered. "She is confused."

"Is she the one responsible for all of this?" the Seeker asked, her tone dangerous.

"What?" Cullen gasped, incredulous.

"She came out of the rift and survived. That mark on her hand is the same as the rifts. Something isn't right here." A beat. "Do you understand what she's saying?"

"Anders..." the girl cried out. "Anders, I'm so sorry..." Cullen felt Cassandra tense beside him. Before he could anticipate what she would do, the warrior drew her sword and leaped towards the girl.

"What did you say?" she demanded, her voice suddenly furious. "That name again! Say it!"

"Templar..." the elf murmured. "No...stay away!" She raised her hands and raw magic sprang forth to blast Cassandra back. The Seeker was prepared for it, however, and negated the energy with her shield.

"You know that man," Cassandra ground out, her face livid. "You know the one who destroyed the chantry in Kirkwall."

"What did you say?" Cullen stood up.

"Anders is the name of the Mage who started all of this. I knew it. She must be at the heart of this disaster," Cassandra ranted. "Tell me what you know or Maker help me I'll cut you down where you stand."

 _I hope that this time, the mortal world will not break her as it has before..._ a voice whispered in his mind. As the Seeker sprang forward, fully prepared to do the girl serious harm, Cullen's body moved on its own. He lunged forward, bringing up his own shield and deflecting Cassandra's blow, staggering from the force of it.

"Wait, Cassandra," he pleaded. "We don't know anything about her. If you kill her, we may never know."

"Stay out of this, Cullen," she growled. "You aren't a part of this. You said so yourself."

"I am now," he answered, his voice strong and free of doubt. His words gave the Seeker pause. She lowered her guard and stepped back.

"What did you say?"

"I said I'm a part of this now. I..." he wanted to tell her everything he'd experienced - the woman made of light, the mysterious words she'd spoken - but something held him back. Cassandra may be faithful to the Maker, but even she wouldn't believe him. "I'll join the Inquisition, be its Commander as you've asked. Right now, this woman is our only clue to understand what happened. She came out of the rift, but she also closed it."

"I agree," Solas interjected. "We must try to speak with her."

"Nobody asked for your opinion,  _Mage_ ," the Seeker snapped.

"Yet I will give it nonetheless. I came here with the intention of fixing this..." he gestured to the Breach. "I am offering my opinion because I feel it will work towards that goal." He stood up and nodded his head. "For now, please put away your weapons. You are frightening her." Both Cullen and Cassandra turned to the girl, now crouched down on the ground looking as pale as the snow itself. She wasn't looking so much at them as she was at their shields and the symbol of the Order branded there. Solas carefully padded over to her, whispering things in elven that Cullen had no hope of understanding. It took some time, but the girl finally responded. Her voice was full of sorrow and pleading.

" _Sahlin era,_ " Solas said as he touched her cheek. A faint light covered her skin for a moment before she closed her eyes and fell forward, unconscious.

"What have you done?" Cassandra exclaimed.

"She is dying," Solas answered, lifting her into his arms. "We must treat her immediately or she will be dead by morning."


	2. Need

 

**Path of the Dreamwalker**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

 

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The dungeon smelled of suffering and loneliness. Its walls dripped with moisture from the cold - black, dirty, and covered in mildew. Water splashed beneath Cullen's armored boots as he stepped through the main corridors. He cringed. Not because the sight of the filthy prison bothered him, but because he knew that this was where Cassandra was keeping the mysterious elven woman that they'd met three days prior.

In her missive, the Seeker hadn't been too specific about why she required his presence, just that her need was dire. He knew that the elven girl had yet to wake up after her ordeal; what he hadn't known is that Cassandra had thrown both her and the apostate Solas into the dungeons with a threat of execution. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Cassandra meant well and had the greater good in mind, but this was no place to keep someone who was injured.

Taking a moment to get his bearings, he jostled a heavy silverite helm under his arm. The covering was shaped like a lion's head. He frowned, wishing he could put it down somewhere. The armor he wore now was ornate and attracted too much attention for his liking. The comfortable simplicity of his familiar Templar's uniform was replaced with an extravagant design that Cassandra insisted upon: pants, gloves, and tunic made of Phoenix scales, red velvet cloth trimmed with gold thread to represent his rank, and a large black and red fur trim around his shoulders.

As the new Commander of the Inquisition, he needed to be a symbol of power and strength, Cassandra reasoned. He agreed with her with more than a little trepidation, for the idea went against the life of piety that had been beaten into him for years in the Order. Where the Seeker was concerned, however, there was no room for argument. Not that he really felt he had a right to argue. In a way, he felt indebted to her for helping him leave the Order. It was her invitation that had given him the strength to do something he'd always considered impossible.

"Oi, did you 'ear what they was sayin' up in the city?" he heard a voice drawl further down the corridor. "Some 'o the villagers is sayin' that the knife-ear wench is some kind o' blessing from Andraste."

"Sounds like a bunch of bullshit," another voice replied in a slur.

 _Sounds like a couple of drunk guardsmen_ \- Cullen lamented. If there was anything he didn't enjoy about his current position, it was the poor discipline he witnessed on a daily basis in the camps. Unfortunately, most of the Inquisition's present recruits were pilgrims from outskirts of Ferelden or refugees from the Conclave explosion. That meant that a bulk of the men they called "soldiers" were no more than farmers who had never wielded more than a pitchfork or plow. A few mercenary companies had offered to join up, for the right price. However, money was tight, and even their ambassador Josephine couldn't negotiate a middle ground.

"Come on, let's take a peek," the first guard coaxed.

"At what?"

"I want t'see that brand on 'er hand for myself."

"Orders were to guard her, not bother her," the second one complained.

"Who's gonna tell? You?" A chuckle. "Come on. That other creepy elf is gone to get somethin' and I'd wager we've got at least an hour 'till he comes back."

"I dunno. Seems like trouble. I heard she could summon demons with the snap of a finger."

"Her arms an' legs are in chains, you bloody coward. Come on." A pair of chairs scraped on wet stone. Cullen didn't like the way this situation was headed. Scowling, he pulled a torch off the wall and hurried down towards the origin of the voices. By the time he made it to the correct cell, the pair of guards had stumbled into it and were eying the elf with expressions that left a bitter taste in the ex-Templar's mouth. As one of them reached over to pull aside her blanket, Cullen cleared his throat.

"I assume you have a good explanation for your actions," Cullen growled, startling them both. The first one's eyes widened while the second just looked confused.

"Who's that?" he asked, swaying on his feet. "Oi, no one's allowed down 'ere."

"Idiot," the first guard hissed, smacking his companion on the shoulder. "This is Commander Cullen." He hurried to lower his head. "Sorry, Commander Sir...We didn't know to expect your comp'ny."

"Explain yourselves," Cullen ordered.

"Just checkin' to see that the prisoner was secure," the first guard rambled. "The other elf is gone to get some bandages. We were just makin' sure she wouldn't run away." Cullen looked past his hunched shoulders to a cot suspended on the wall by chains. The girl lay there, still as death. Her skin was pale, nearly devoid of all color; she looked ill. He recalled the guard's tone of voice when he'd labeled her a "knife-ear" - hatred mixed with a perverse curiosity. Furious that someone under his command - indirectly or not - would dare to lay their hands on someone as helpless as this girl, Cullen's scowl deepened.

"You are aware that the partaking of spirits is strictly forbidden to guardsmen on duty?"

"Y-Yes...sorry, Commander Sir..."

"Your are part of the Inquisition now, gentlemen, and we do not tolerate those who would shed bad light on our cause. You can be certain that your transgressions will not go unpunished."

"Y-Yes, Sir..."

"Names."

"Gary," the first one grunted. "This one's Arthur." He pointed to his friend. Arthur's eyes darted between his friend and Cullen. Panicking, he stumbled back and ran into the girl's cot.

"We didn't mean nothing by it, Sir..."

"Get out," Cullen said evenly. "Now."

"Yessir," Gary flinched. His companion in tow, he hurried to get past the taller man. In a few moments, Cullen was left alone with the girl, struggling to control his temper. It was all he could do to allow those fools to get away without a proper scolding. He would have to address Cassandra about the discipline of her men. Letting out a pent up breath, he laid his helmet down on another one of the nearby cots and took a seat in what he assumed to be Solas's chair. Where had the damned apostate gone, anyway? If this was what Cassandra called "imprisonment", he hated to see what she labeled as "freedom".

Shaking his head, he decided to take this opportunity to examine the girl in more detail. The moment he leaned forward, she startled him by mumbling something in elven. As she shifted restlessly about, her arm fell out from under the thin blanket that covered her. When her wrist turned towards him, he caught sight of a strange-looking rune that appeared to be branded into her flesh. Cullen was instantly on edge.

" _Ar'din nuvenin na'din_... " she murmured then cried out in pain. Her palm lit up with a brilliant green light that sparked and hissed like balled lightning. A moan of pure agony slipped from her lips. Her glowing hand clenched into a fist and she arched her back, nearly falling off the cot. Cullen rushed to steady her, surprised at the jolt he felt upon touching her shoulders. The magic spreading from the rune on her hand felt alien and cold, almost like a clammy hand wrapping around his heart. The symbol pulsed and swelled, growing marginally larger with each passing second. Then, the girl threw back her head and screamed, the sound chilling him to the bone. For several moments, he could have sworn that the piercing sound echoed in the dungeons. Or was it just his imagination?

He wondered if he should say something to her. Uncertainty stopped him. He had never been good with words. Cassandra was the one that gave speeches and inspired people. He had always been better at leading in a more direct fashion. This was different, however. The girl was no soldier or Templar. Pale, chained, and bandaged, she looked so helpless that he felt he had to do something for her. The pain on her face moved him, reminded him of something, but he had no idea what he could possibly say to comfort her. _What do I do?_ \- Cullen's mind raced as he looked around the cell. _What **can** I do?_ He opened his mouth to say something when he recalled that he didn't even know her name.

Again, the mark on her hand pulsed, sending out sparks that felt hot to the touch. The bandages around her arm transformed from clean white to a charred black. A thought struck him. He was no longer officially a Templar, but that did not mean that he'd lost the knowledge the Order had given him. His primary task in training had been to learn how to negate magic, to deny Mages their advantage. If the mark on the girl's hand was the source of her torment, surely he could suppress its power somehow. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, but hesitated. A part of him saw the girl as a risk. The rune on her hand shared a connection with the Fade. What if she lost herself and became an abomination? Would he have to go back to the horror he was forced to bear in Ferelden's Circle? He'd sworn never to be a part of that again.

"Help me!" the girl shouted in common. She screamed again, tears trailing like crystalline rivers down her face. Cullen felt cold sweat running down his back. Now was not the time to think about the consequences. If he could help her somehow, then he would be using his Templar abilities for something good. Wasn't that his aim in serving the Order in the first place? Throwing all caution to the wind, Cullen used the chair to support his weight as he lurched forward and pressed down on the girl's torso. In the same motion, he grabbed hold of her wrist and closed his eyes, focusing on sensing the magic of the mark and its source. The task was far from simple, especially since the girl did everything possible to escape his hold. She was small and thin; he feared that if he put too much of his weight on her, he would crush her.

_Focus. Calm the mind, and find your center._

_There!_ \- his instinct rejoiced. He felt the tugging of the root of the symbol's magic and concentrated on it. Now for the prayer.

"Though all...Though all before me is..." he choked on the words of the Chant, remembering that he wasn't even certain if he believed anymore. Could a man do anything without faith to guide him? How could he help someone when he doubted his Maker?

"Forgive me..." the girl shuddered, her body convulsing. "Please...please forgive me..." Suddenly, he realized who she reminded him of. Himself. How many times had he awakened in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat from the horrors his dreams made him relive? How many times had he felt this kind of pain? Though he did not know who the girl was speaking to, he recognized the note of grief in her voice - the longing and regret. Gritting his teeth, he decided that - in this moment - it didn't matter how strong his faith was. All that made a difference was how much he wanted to ease her pain.

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide," he began again, closing his eyes. His free hand wrapped around her glowing wrist, strengthening his grip on it. "I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond for there is no darkness in the Maker's Light..." He lost track of time, focusing only on the words and his will - the desire to negate the mark. As he did this, Cullen visualized the runes for a spell purge in his mind and released them. The girl gasped in shock and went rigid. He felt the root of the magic weakening and repeated the purge. Wave after wave, again and again, until - when he opened his eyes - he saw that the symbol shrank. Its glow diminished, and the elf beneath him let out a ragged breath of relief. As her convulsions slowed to shivers, he heard her whisper something:

"Forgive me, _Asha'belannar_... "

"Remarkable," a voice echoed from the hallway. Cullen's head snapped up. At the entrance to the cell stood Solas, his arms laden with water, books, and strips of folded clean cloth. "So Templar abilities can suppress it, too."

"Suppress what?" Cullen ventured, confused. Realizing that he was in a rather awkward position on top of the girl, he rushed to stand and move away from her.

"You do not know? Then why did you use your power on her?"

"She was in pain. I wanted to help..."

"It is fortunate that you did not make it worse," Solas concluded, face set in stone. He moved to the bench next to the cot on the opposite side of the room and set his supplies down. As he approached, Cullen noticed the raw exhaustion on his face. Black streaks outlined his eyes; the elf looked like he hadn't slept in days. "Unfortunately, despite your best efforts, you've only delayed the inevitable."

"What do you mean?" Cullen's gaze followed the elf as he approached the girl's cot, his movements so smooth that he seemed to glide on air. "What have you been doing for three days? Why has Cassandra brought me here?"

"I imagine she believes that we are out of options. She has threatened to execute me if I do not heal the girl."

"Then heal her."

"If only it were possible. As it stands, that mark on her hand will continue to grow, as the Breach will continue to grow." The Mage soaked one of the cloths in fresh water, folded it, and placed it on the girl's forehead. "What you witnessed was only a minor tremor."

"She's been in that much pain all this time?" Cullen asked. He glanced at the girl again, noted her pallor. "I don't understand. If I can't help, then why..."

"The truth is that I requested your presence. I told Cassandra that I needed you here."

"Why?" he repeated with a little more force. Solas turned to him, his blue eyes hardening to ice.

"Because I believe that you are a reasonable man. Right now, our options are limited. We need to try to seal the Breach, and if we cannot seal it then at least stop it from growing any larger. We don't have much time; a few days at most."

"Are you certain?" Cullen demanded, feeling his heart drop into his stomach. He was no fool; he knew that the Breach wouldn't just disappear. But...days? His eyes narrowed. "What do you suggest?"

"Even if the girl isn't conscious, I may be able to channel the power in this symbol to accomplish our goal. We would have to transport her there. There is only one setback." Cullen raised a brow, gesturing for the elf to continue. "She may not survive the attempt to seal the Breach. Cassandra has refused my request, believing my plan to be a part of some sort of conspiracy. She also desperately wants to speak to this girl as she is the only lead we have as to what truly happened in the Conclave. However," he took a breath, "...we cannot afford to wait any longer."

"You're certain there is no other way?" Cullen asked. Solas nodded without hesitation. "Then where is she? I'll speak with her."

"I cannot claim to have knowledge of my jailer's agenda," the Mage shrugged. Cullen cursed and picked up his helmet, knowing that this search may take some time. At the very least, he hoped that he could predict where Cassandra might go. If Leliana was here, then she was surely in the war room. "Commander," Solas called out when Cullen stepped out of the cell.

"What?" he called back irritably.

"Why did you help her? Surely you knew it was dangerous to try."

"I knew."

"Then..."

"Would you not have done the same?"

"Perhaps, but I am not a Templar."

"Neither am I," Cullen said with finality, stepping out of the cell and into the hall.

* * *

 

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.

.

"You want to do _what_?" Cassandra asked, the furrow between her brows so deep that Cullen wondered if it would leave a scar. His friend was agitated, pacing the full length of the war room back to front at what could be considered marching speed. He watched her do so from a comfortable seat at a large table in the center of the room. The heavy wood piece looked ancient, sporting legs in the shape of griffon talons; it was covered from one end to the other in maps, reports, and invoices.

"What the Mage says is logical," he answered. "We can't sit here and wait anymore, Cassandra. We _have_ to act."

"He's brainwashed you," she accused, pointing at him. "Do you realize what it is he wants to do?"

"I don't like the thought of an innocent dying, either," Leliana cut in from her place at the other end of the table, resting her hand on her chin. He noted that, like him, she wore new armor – a long chainmail split tunic and knee-high boots made of veridium.

From the corner, Josephine watched the proceedings silently, her demeanor stiff and serious. She held a firm notepad in one hand and a quill in the other. It was his first time meeting the Inquisition's ambassador in person. Right away, he could tell that this woman worked hard and around the clock. Her beauty was marred only by her unapproachable appearance, at least when she was not in public. Out among the people, she was well liked and respected – an attitude that the Inquisition sorely needed right now.

"But what choice do we _really_ have?" Leliana concluded. "I agree with Cullen. We need to make a decision and act on it as soon as possible."

"Not you too," Cassandra grumbled. She finally stopped moving, collapsing into a nearby chair. "Have both of you considered that we have no idea if she's innocent or not?"

"That doesn't really matter, does it?" Leliana ventured. "We _need_ her. Or rather, we need the mark she has."

"We know nothing about that demonic symbol. For all we know, it could make things worse," the Seeker countered.

"We'll have to risk it," Cullen said, unhappy with the idea. "Solas says that it will work."

"So far, he's been the only one who has come close to understanding anything about the mark," Leliana agreed. "If only we could contact more Mages…"

"We cannot," Josephine spoke up in a heavy Antivan accent. "The Inquisition is not ready to speak to the Mages. Rather," she adjusted her posture in her chair, "…we are not perceived as serious prospects for stopping the Breach. Therefore, our list of allies is…thin. Not to mention, these rumors about the girl are spreading."

"I heard guards talking about it in the dungeon," Cullen intoned. "They said something about Andraste."

"Indeed," Leliana smiled. "According to some eye witness accounts, it seems that some people mentioned seeing a woman in the rift with the girl. They've taken to believing that she has Andraste's blessing."

"This is ridiculous," Cassandra complained. "All of us were there. There was _no_ woman, _no_ Maker…just the elf girl." The room fell silent. Josephine looked back down at her notepad, scribbling more notes. Leliana's face clouded with heavy thoughts. All the while, Cullen felt guilt and doubt stalking his own. Should he bother mentioning that he'd seen the woman as well? Was it even the same vision that these rumors were referring to? The last thing they needed right now was to fall victim to superstition. Doing so would only weaken them as a whole.

"Well…" He glanced at Cassandra, saw the way she was barely keeping her temper in check, and decided to remain silent for now. "It's just rumor," he decreed. "Harmless, really."

"Until it reaches the ears of the Clerics," Josephine argued. "Then, it becomes a problem. I'm sure I don't need to explain why." When Cassandra made a sound of disapproval and threw up her hands in frustration, Leliana spoke up.

"We chose to follow the Divine's directive and make the Inquisition. We knew it wouldn't be a downhill gallop. We knew that our choices would get ugly, and we understood what we were all sacrificing." She glanced up, her gaze steady and sure. "Right now, our first concern is the Breach. If we don't seal it, everything else will mean nothing."

Suddenly, the ground beneath them shook. What began as a barely perceptible vibration turned into a full earthquake. Cullen stood up out of his chair and leaned on the nearby desk, watching as books toppled from the shelves lining the walls and papers fluttered to the floor. Though he was surprised, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine took things in stride, holding up loose items here and there to keep them from breaking. It took several minutes for the tremors to stop. When they did, he raised a brow at his friends.

"This isn't the first quake like this in Haven?"

"They've been coming more and more frequently for the past two days," Cassandra replied.

"We felt them on the front and around Forward Camp," Cullen revealed. "I had no idea they reached this far."

"This confirms what Solas was saying," Leliana suggested. "We need to move. Tonight."

"I can gather two full companies of men to come with us," Cassandra offered. "We'll have to march since we have no wagons or horses."

"Except for yours," Leliana teased. For the first time since Cullen joined his friends in the war room, Cassandra smiled.

"Nassor may be strong, but he won't be able to pull a supply wagon alone."

"There's Cullen's horse, too. And mine. We have Josephine's carriage."

"It's an antique," the black-haired diplomat chimed in with a pout, "…a treasure. Not meant for transporting an armory."

"I thought we commissioned the smiths to start building wagons," Cullen recalled.

"We did," Josephine replied. "But we spent the last portion of our budget on enlarging the stables first."

"Stables?" Cullen asked, incredulous. "When we have no horses?" She shrugged.

"The hope was that we would be able to enlist the assistance of a sympathizer in the Hinterlands – a certain Master Dennet, who is known to breed fine horses on his lands. However, negotiations with him have ground to a halt for unknown reasons."

"I know Dennet," Cassandra revealed. "He is the one who originally bred Nassor. Perhaps we could speak to him again."

"Nassor," Cullen tested the name. "Is that the black warhorse that…"

"Yes, given to me by Divine Justinia." Cassandra's smile withered. "She hoped that he would guide me safely on the Maker's path." When the room fell into an uncomfortable silence, Cullen decided to change the subject.

"What about these men you mentioned? Have they been trained? Do they have any experience?"

"No," Leliana cautioned. "They'll just get in the way. None of the soldiers we have here are fully trained and ready to march such a long distance." Her smile was bitter. "Or to fight demons."

"If that's the case, then we shouldn't risk it," Cullen insisted. "We'll have to go alone and rely on the forces were have at the front."

"Sounds like a suicide mission," someone announced from the doorway. All three officers turned to look in that direction. There stood a dwarf dressed in faded merchant's clothing. His coat sported a few burn marks and scuffs, and an enormous crossbow hung on his back. The first thing Cullen noticed was that he lacked a typical dwarven beard and that his shirt parted low to reveal a full chest of hair. Not sure what to make of this eccentric intruder, he glanced at Cassandra, surprised to see that she was now scowling.

"Varric," she bit out, obviously displeased. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay where you were."

"You did," he agreed with a smile. Something dropped from his hand – a heavy lock. "Unfortunately, I didn't find Haven's dungeons to be too comfortable. Plus, the way that elf girl screams is just…" he shuddered. "Dunno what that thing on her hand is doing to her, but it doesn't sound good."

"Who are you?" Cullen asked, feeling like he'd seen this dwarf somewhere before. Varric looked at him and bowed.

"Well, well," he chuckled. "Looking good in that new getup, _ex_ -Knight Commander."

"You know me?"

"Varric Tethras at your service. Rogue, storyteller, and sometimes," he looked pointedly at Cassandra, "…unwelcome tagalong."

Tethras? – Cullen thought. Surely not the one who kept company with the Champion…

" _Most_ unwelcome," Cassandra added. "I originally brought you here to tell your version of the Mage uprising in Kirkwall to the Divine. Things are...different now." Cullen heard the catch in her voice. "Your services are no longer required," she decreed. "You may leave."

"Funny how you say that _after_ I've escaped from captivity. Tell me, do you jail all of your guests, or am I just special?"

"I'll throw you back in if you want," the Seeker threatened.

"No, thanks," Varric raised his hands in mock supplication. "However, before you elect to throw me out the door, let me tell you why I came here instead of high-tailing it." His lips curved up into a smirk, eyes gleaming. "That pair of elves you were keeping down there for Maker knows what..."

"What about them?"

"They're gone."

" _What?_ " Cassandra's face caught fire. Her eyes blazed with fury.

"Just thought you should know. I'm assuming you had plans to _keep_ them down there," Varric shrugged.

"Where did they go?" Leliana asked in a much calmer tone. She placed a hand on the Seeker's shoulder. Cullen had a feeling that he knew what the dwarf was about to say. The way Solas had been speaking in the dungeon left no room for doubt of his intentions.

"They went to the Breach," Cullen predicted.

"Bingo," Varric smiled. "Muttered something about not having the time to wait for the big-shots to make a decision. I tried to talk him out of it, but no dice. The man was determined." Cassandra growled and slammed her fist down on the wooden table, displacing a few more documents. Her armored glove left dents in the table's coat of polish.

"Damn it! I knew that I shouldn't have trusted him!"

"It's alright," Leliana reassured her. "We can still catch up with them. As far as we know, the girl is still injured. He can't move fast while carrying her and they have no - "

"Commander Cullen! Lady Seeker! Someone!" The hallway past the door echoed with hurried footsteps. In a moment, a flustered looking soldier dashed over to Varric and skidded to a halt at the war room entrance. He bent over his knees, desperate to catch his breath. "Forgive the interruption," he wheezed. "Urgent news…"

"What's the matter?" Cullen asked.

"The Herald of Andraste has been kidnapped!" There was no mistaking the genuine concern in the man's voice, or the way that Cassandra rolled her eyes at the mention of the title.

"For Maker's sake…she is _not_ – "

"The apostate was seen riding out of Haven with her just a short time ago. The men and some of the refugees are outraged. They're massing together outside the Chantry and demanding that the Herald be rescued."

"Riding?" Cassandra echoed, bypassing the other things that the soldier mentioned.

"Yes, Lady Seeker," the soldier breathed. "Your horse. The black..." Cullen flinched, knowing exactly what he was about to say. "It's gone!" Varric looked to be infinitely amused by this revelation; Leliana's face had gone a shade paler. Cullen turned to the Seeker. For a moment, she was deathly silent. Then -

"I'm going to kill him myself."

* * *

 

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.

.

When Cullen stepped out of the Chantry, he expected to see some agitated refugees and perhaps a few soldiers going against given protocol. What he did not anticipate was the speed with which a group of untrained men and women could don armor and mass together for a cause. The soldier in the war room had mentioned that some people were upset about the elf girl's disappearance. As he took in the crowded courtyard and lost count of the number of torches and helmets, however, he balked. This wasn't just a few crazies or desperate believers; most of Haven had shown up on the Chantry's doorstep.

"Well, this is unexpected," he told Leliana when she stepped out behind him.

"Indeed. Unexpected, but quite possibly beneficial."

"How so?"

"Look at them, Cullen. They are full of fire. They are ready to stand up for something. No more listless faces and blank stares. This is what we need, what the _Inquisition_ needs."

"Perhaps, though I wish it had come with better timing and different circumstances. Most of these men aren't even warriors. What can they hope to achieve?"

"All men are the work of our Maker's hands," she said, quoting one of the commandments, "…from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. We should respect their determination."

"Even if it gets them all killed?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watching him. "What is it?"

"You seem…different, somehow."

"Hasn't Cassandra told you?"

"She said you were struggling to find yourself."

"To put it lightly…"

"I think all of us are," she confided. "The Conclave hit us all in our most vulnerable of hurts. Don't think my own faith hasn't been shaken. If Cassandra seems confident, it's just because she hasn't given herself the proper chance to mourn. Like a charging beast, she rushes forward so that she doesn't have to look back and come face to face with her wounds."

 _How does she always see so deep into us?_ – Cullen wondered. _It's almost as though her eyes are mirrors to our souls._

"For now, let's just take things one step at a time," she concluded.

"Agreed." Just as he said this, Cassandra threw open the double doors of the Chantry, looking as livid as a raging Varghest. "Cassandra - " he began. She stopped him with a curt gesture.

"Get your horse, Cullen. We are going after them."

"What about these people?" Leliana pointed out.

"Clear them out. Tell them to get back to work. We don't have time for their silly superstitions," she snarled under her breath. Leliana's veneer of calm shattered. She stepped forward and grabbed Cassandra's arm, pulling her back with surprising force.

"Listen to me," she whispered. "This is our opportunity to give these people hope."

"What are you suggesting, that we go along with their lunacy?"

"If that's what it takes," Leliana confirmed. "Talk to them." She caught Cullen's gaze. "Or you, Cullen. Even better. You are their Commander, their _leader_. Say something to put their fears to rest."

"What?" he faltered. "What am I supposed to say?" Behind Leliana, Josephine pursed her lips.

"Perhaps I should…"

"No," Leliana interrupted. "It _must_ be Cullen." Her wintry gaze left no room for excuses or arguments. He turned to the gathering mob and took a deep breath. Speeches had never been his forte. As he looked out at the sea of faces and expectant eyes, he felt at a loss. "They are just Templars, Cullen," Leliana whispered. "Not strangers." For some reason, her words gave him some confidence. He'd addressed his own men on plenty of occasions, after all, and never shied away from leadership. These people were no different. He squared his shoulders and stepped farther out into the courtyard.

"People of the Inquisition," he addressed the crowd. "We know why you've gathered."

"He's taken her!" a woman shouted from the back of the mob.

"The Herald is gone!" someone wailed.

"We must find her!" a man cried out.

"We will," he reassured them. "We know exactly where she is being taken, and rest assured that we will do all within our power to return the Herald of Andraste to safety."

"Let us march with you, Commander Cullen!" another man called out, shouldering his way to the front. He was dressed marginally better than his comrades, sporting a heavy iron breastplate and a greatsword. Cullen recognized his accent as Orlesian. "We want to help the Herald." Surprised and pleased with his bravery, Cullen gestured to him.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"I am Jaeden."

"Jaeden. I commend your bravery and your willingness to risk your life. However, the best any of you can do right now is to continue your training and make sure that Haven is safe in our absence."

"Yes, Commander!" Jaeden crossed his arm over his chest and thumped it against his shoulder in a sign of respect.

"We _will_ bring the Herald back," Cullen declared. "Then, the Inquisition will seal the Breach and end this threat once and for all." Cheers erupted from the crowd; people started to look relieved. Cullen turned towards the stables and motioned for Cassandra and Leliana to follow, hoping that his words wouldn't turn into empty promises.

"Am I imagining it, Cullen, or do you look concerned?" Leliana observed with a smile when they were out of earshot of the courtyard.

"Concerned?"

"He won't kill her."

"Who?"

"The girl. It's what you're worried about. I can tell."

"I'm not…that is…"

"She does seem like the victim in all this, doesn't she?" Cullen wasn't sure how to answer that, so he didn't. "He won't kill her," she repeated. "He needs her, just as we do."


	3. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, commenting, and giving Kudos. Your support means the world to me and the project!

* * *

**Path of the Dreamwalker**

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Memories**

* * *

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"We can't go this way," Cullen warned. He stared at the remains of the broken bridge before him, his hand clenching his horse's reigns so hard that the leather of his glove creaked in protest. What had once been a sturdy bridge over a river was now nothing but magic-burned rubble.

"Did Solas do that?" Leliana asked, pointing out the burn marks all around the cracks in stone.

"No," Cullen speculated. "Most likely, it was the quakes coming from the Breach. Or demons. I don't think he would have wasted the time." He examined the path ahead. His troops had only recently cleared this uphill segment of snow; it was the main road to the Temple. However, it wasn't the last. He'd been running scouts and light patrols in the area for the past three days. Though the terrain was tough to navigate on foot, he knew it was manageable. "We'll have to go around," he observed.

"If Solas didn't destroy this bridge, it means that he had to have gone around, too." Leliana raised her arm to shield her eyes as she examined the surrounding snow. The sun had risen, spreading a wealth of light and color throughout the landscape. Cullen mimicked her. Now that the brilliant white snow caught the rays of sunlight, looking at it directly was almost painful. She rocked back and hopped off her mount. "I can track him, but it won't be easy in this environment."

"I should be able to help. There's a path," he pointed due west to a narrow break in the trees. "It's small. We may have to leave the horses here." Leliana frowned. "Don't worry. If anything happens, they know the way home."

"If anything happens, we won't  _have_  a home," Cassandra interjected. These were the first words she'd spoken since their departure. Her face had been unreadable throughout the entire ride here. Cullen wondered how much she blamed herself for the current situation and pitied her.

"Let's make certain things don't come to that," he told her, offering a hand to help her off his horse. She pursed her lips and ignored it, dismounting on her own. Brave, proud, stubborn Cassandra. As they moved west towards the path he'd pointed out, Cullen sensed a shift in the air. Something felt...out of place. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his instinct warned him that danger approached. Not that he didn't doubt his instincts. During his time as a Templar, Lyrium helped sharpen these instincts. He could sense magic as easily as breathing. In fact, had he still been in the Order, he would have likely taken a Lyrium draft before running this sort of mission. Unfortunately, the substance was hard to come by now that he was far from the Templars. His last dose had been nearly a week ago. Perhaps that explained why he felt so tired and short-tempered.

"What is it, Cullen?" Cassandra asked. Her sharp gaze pierced him. Did she know? He'd worked hard to keep the fact that he was breaking away from Lyrium a secret. But when Cassandra was involved, hardly anything escaped her notice.

"It's nothing," he replied, dismissing her worry with a gesture. "I was just thinking about how to best handle Solas once we catch up to him." He stroked his chin in thought. "Perhaps threatening him wasn't the best course of action. I think he means well."

"Are you  _defending_  him?" Cassandra demanded, incredulous.

"No, simply wondering how the three of us are going to take on a full fledged Mage on our own."

"He won't attack us if we show him that we don't mean any harm," Leliana explained. "Solas didn't seem like a bad person."

"You are a poor judge of character," Cassandra grumbled. "If he meant well, he wouldn't have kidnapped -"

"You didn't leave him any options," Leliana argued, kneeling down and examining the ground. She moved her fingers through some branches, shifting aside a few larger ones to clear the road. "This way. I can see hoof tracks." They followed Leliana through a thick underbrush until Leliana called out with some excitement:

"Look, a campfire." Cullen squinted to see what she was pointing at and saw the ruins of a dying fire. They rushed to it, finding nothing there but fizzing embers. All around, however, they noticed footprints and skid marks. Cassandra pointed out a large tree where a pool of blood had stained the snow a sickly crimson. Cullen walked over to it and knelt down, examining the area. Whose blood was it? Something told him that it was likely the girl's. A stab of guilt caused him to flinch. He'd left her alone with him. If only he hadn't left the jail that night.

"I see more tracks moving away, probably north. We should follow," Leliana suggested. Cassandra remained eerily silent, not saying a word to anyone. The behavior was uncharacteristic of her, and Cullen found himself concerned for her wellbeing. As they followed Leliana, he walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch broke something in in her – a restraint that she'd been holding onto for days now.

"If only I hadn't trusted him," she lamented in a rush. "I should have chained him. I shouldn't have believed him. Then, maybe…"

"You're not worried about the prisoner, are you?" She took a moment to answer.

"Yes, and no. Of course I have considered that she might be innocent. Of course I have thought about her having to die so that the rest of us can live. I shouldn't be doubting. This must be the Maker's will. But…"

"It will be alright. Somehow." He squeezed her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile despite the fact that he was sure of nothing himself. "Leliana is certain that he won't kill her."

"Leliana is a girl with dreams of fancy," Cassandra grumbled. "She is always trying to see the best in everyone."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Cullen asked. "Perhaps all of us could use that sort of mentality every once in a while." After that, they didn't speak. All three focused on tracking down Solas, examining branches, undergrowth, and marks in the snow. Eventually, Leliana stopped at a small lake. The cold air had frozen the top layer of the water. Cullen surmised that it wouldn't be safe to walk on. His eyes caught sight of a gap in the ice, and he slid down the hill to examine it.

"What is it, Cullen?" Cassandra asked when she followed.

"Looks like an animal might have fallen in." He looked around. "No body though."

"I don't think it was an animal," Leliana stated. Cullen walked over to where she crouched by another side of the shore. His stomach flipped. Blood. So much of it that it nearly made him sick. The sensation confused him, for he was a warrior. He'd seen his fair share of blood and gore on the field. Something about  _this_ , however, made him severely uncomfortable.

 _Magic_  – instinct warned.

"Leliana, he was here."

"Can you feel it?" Cassandra asked. He nodded. "From the looks of things, he's turned to blood magic."

"No," Cullen denied. "This wasn't blood magic. This was…something else." His eyes followed a trail of mixed footprints. "Let's keep moving. We are almost at the Temple."

* * *

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She awoke with blood on her hands.

Red. Viscous. Shining.

She could see the blood that caked the skin of her right hand and that which still flowed in her veins. So pretty; so warm. Like rivers through the forests; like the paths that her feet once tread through the Wilds. Her eyes followed the trails, the rivers, from her palm to her wrist. Thin at first, then larger. Fingers rubbed together, felt the stickiness of the crimson liquid. Blood belonged inside, not out.

Yet here it was.

But how had it gotten there?

 _I should be dead -_ her mind whispered. The voice was foreign, unfamiliar, unwelcome.  _I should not be here._

Yet here she was.

Where  _was_  here? She looked up and all around her, taking in the sheer whiteness of her surroundings. Trees bending from the weight of the snow on their branches; grass, yellow and dead from the chill; ground, wet and so cold that she shivered in pain. Then she stood and the world changed; everything felt even more unfamiliar and terrifying. She had never been here before - had never walked these woods or seen these hills. In the Wilds, she had known every river, every bush, every contour of the land. But here...

The realization finally crashed into her - hit her like a frigid flailing wave.

_Who am I?_

The fear came next - the terror of not knowing. She looked at her hands again, saw her pale skin, and wondered what her face looked like. Her right hand bore a strange symbol that pulsed with a faint green light. Bandages swirled up along her arm, covered in burns and blood. Unfamiliar. No recognition. She touched her cheeks, her nose, her lips; so foreign. Like touching a cold clay sculpture. Fingers reached up to brush through waist-length hair. Only when she brought a strand of it before her eyes did she find out its color. It was so black, like the void, like the death that she should still be a part of. Yet...She was alive. Cold, shivering, terrified - but alive. Perhaps she should be grateful, but the sensation of her heart beating in her chest was wrong. She took a few experimental breaths of icy air and tasted winter on her tongue. Snow fell from above, the crystalline snowflakes capturing her fascination.

Wrong. This was wrong.

_Who awakened me?_

She took a few steps forward, hoping to see the one responsible for...whatever this was. Though she could not remember how it happened, she knew for certain that she'd died. Her body remembered it; her skin still ached in places where fatal wounds had been. Closing her eyes, she could almost envision it. Swords, blades, teeth, claws. Ripping flesh; tearing bone; rending pain. She recalled a struggle - a fight, a rising desperation. Desperation? What did that mean? She tried to say the word out loud and jumped when her own voice startled her. A light, airy, voice. Delicate. Soft. She formed the words again - desperation, death, fight. Nothing.

At last, she touched her ears – long and pointed.

 _Elf_.

The word floated to her with the snow, caressed her with its meaning.  _Elf_.  _Dalish._ She mouthed the syllables, listening to her own voice and trying to accept it as hers.  _Clan_. That one was painful. Something hurt in her chest when she thought of it.  _The last._ Whatever "clan" was, it was dead - like she should be. Only she remained. Unfair. She didn't want to be alone. Fingers brushed her lips.  _My name. What is my name?_  No matter how she tried, she couldn't recall. If only it didn't hurt so much to think about the past. The more she tried to search her memories for clues to who she was, the more her head throbbed and the more exhausted she became.

Something beside her crackled; she looked down and saw a campfire. The embers were dying, clinging to their last breath in a fight against the sodden chill. A row of stones surrounded the ashes. Perfect. Neat. Too perfect. She hadn't built it. So, who had? Perhaps the one responsible for her predicament.  _Fire. Heat. Warmth. Safety._  She liked those words; they felt good, comfortable. Her hands slid downward, running over cloth and metal.

_Armor._

Eyes followed. Blue and grey leather, hardened scales. A creature with wings.

 _Griffon_.

When she saw it, her head throbbed in agony. So close! The memories hovered just out of reach, tantalizing and beckoning.

 _Must move forward_  - her thoughts urged.

Dizzy, disoriented, and fraught with an overwhelming need to understand her situation, she stumbled forward in a random direction. One step. Two. The first were the hardest. That campfire was safe; that campfire was her world, was the only thing she knew and trusted. It was real; it was tangible. Three steps. Four. Now it was easier. Now, she was curious and hungry. Not for food or drink, but for knowledge. Her bare feet padded through the snow, but she hardly felt the cold anymore. Something caught her attention. Footprints. Evidence of tampering. Evidence of life. She knelt and examined them, breathed in and took in the scent of wet grass, disturbed earth, and frozen pine. Someone was here; someone had started the fire. Someone had left for unknown purpose.

_Someone did this to me._

Upright now, she continued her path to nowhere, hoping to find answers. Here and there, the footprints reappeared. She followed them. Over hills and through dense clumps of fallen leaves and dried branches. Who was she searching for? Would she even know if she saw them? Images flashed - like flickers - behind her conscious thoughts. Separating one from another wasn't possible. She stopped for a moment to try and see a clearer picture. And there it was.

 _His face_.

A man. Human. Silver eyes, golden-brown hair, a smile that made her heart flutter in her chest like a butterfly seeking its freedom. For a moment, she knew him. For a moment, she might have loved him. She breathed in, fully prepared to call his name - to tell him she needed him now more than ever. Then, he was gone. She was alone again - alone and confused. Left with no alternative, she continued walking.

Eventually, she reached a clearing. Trees parted around a small lake. In the distance, she saw stones - even and beautiful - piled on top of each other to form something her mind called a  _Temple_. How did she know that? How could she have possibly known a place she'd never been to before?

_Look up._

She had no choice but to obey, but when she did she thought her heart would surely stop. The sky sprawled before her eyes. Open, spacious, endless, vast. It was blue, white, grey, and emerald. It shone with its own luster, like a peal freshly washed by salty ocean water. Like ivory polished to a gleaming luster. And again - again! - it was wrong.

_Torn. Ripped open. Swirling like a hurricane._

Travesty. Crime against nature. What could have done this?

Something stood behind her.  _Someone._  She turned - her eyes filling with tears of sorrow.

"The sky is torn," she whispered. "The Veil has been pierced." The man reached up in a gesture that meant nothing to her. What did he want? Was it he who had torn the sky? Was it he who had brought her here? Had awakened her? Had broken nature's laws to bring her back from death?

"No,  _da'len_ ," he murmured, his voice as gentle as the brush of silk. She saw his ears – long and pointed. He, too, was elven. "It was not I." She'd spoke aloud, it seemed. How could she have known? She still couldn't recognize her own voice. Or her hair. Or her skin. Or her hand with the abomination branded into it.

"Then who?"

"Come," he bid her. "Step away from there. It isn't safe." She saw his eyes flicker to her feet and was helpless to stop herself from looking down. She'd stopped right on the edge of a cresting hill. One more step, and she would fall tumbling down. Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps then she could die and rest once more. Living hurt. Living was terrifying. A burden. Her heart felt hollow; her skin felt like a shell. The man stepped towards her and she jerked back, almost losing her balance. "Come to me," he bid again.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Solas," replied, as though just his name was supposed to explain everything.  _Solas_. She moved her lips soundlessly, testing the name – sampling it. It tasted of regret, of sorrow, and of hardship. Yet the sound of it was pleasant – like a bird's first song.

"Are you the one who brought me back?"

"Back from where?" he asked, his voice even and unflinching.

"Death. The void." Then another word came to her. " _Uthenera._ " What she said stopped him in his tracks. His eyes grew wide, and she finally saw their color. Blue - like calm waters, like the sky. Or were they grey? Even as she debated it, they shifted.

"Come to me." She wanted to. So much. His voice spoke of the campfire, of returning there, of getting her warm. Such temptation, to return to safety. "Please,  _da'len._ "

"Why do you call me that? Is that my name?" It sounded sweet when he whispered it like that. Curious, she felt its texture. Took a bite. " _Da'len_." Again and again. No. It was wrong, felt wrong; tasted like bitter fruit.

"No, it isn't," he said simply.

"Then what  _is_  my name?"

"Do you not remember? Come. I will show you." Hypnotic, like the swaying of trees in an autumn wind. His movements were graceful, slow, deliberate. She leaned forward and reached out her hand, wanting to trust, yet terrified of being burned. Why? Why this fear?

Then the sky rebelled. The clouds roared. The heavens howled like demon wolves in the blackest night.

"It's coming," she heard herself say, not sure where the words originated. Her breathing sped up. Heart racing. Mind running. Lungs convulsing. The sky screeched and moaned, the fabric of the clouds parted, and the tear grew larger. She screamed when her hand caught fire. The symbol blazed with fury. Clawing at her hand, she fell. Rolled. Curled up. Down, down, down the hill. Her body hit something with enough force to knock the air out of her lungs. No pain there. Just agony in her palm. Suffering. Nothing was helping. Lightning shot from the symbol on her skin, burning long lines of red and crimson into her flesh. Carving - like a knife. Digging. Breaking. Her voice didn't scare her anymore. After a while, she stopped hearing it. Her hand was on fire. Fire!

 _Need to put it out._  Opening her eyes, she crawled. Through the mud and dirt. On her belly. Clothes raking on the snow, absorbing it. Cold. So cold. And yet so hot! Crawl. Had to keep crawling.

_Water...water...water..._

Then she saw it - the edge of the lake. Small, but it didn't matter now. All she wanted was to jump into it and cocoon herself in its watery depths. So she did. Or she tried. Someone stopped her. Or tried. Arms grabbed at her shoulders. Desperate, she kicked and pushed. Foot touched the ice of the water. One step. Two. Three. Just a little more. Then cracking. The ice broke and she fell. Down, down, down, into the mind-numbing cold. It didn't stop the fire on her hand, didn't help put out the flames. Strange flames - not red or gold. Green. Blue. Black. Beautiful. Strange, wrong, unnatural, but more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen. Except for the man in her memories and the eyes that glowed silver even in the brightest light. For a moment, she knew him again. For a moment, she saw him stand before her. Alive. Warm. He called her name. What was it? She tried to hear it, tried to tell him to speak louder.

No voice. No air. No air!

_Can't breathe...can't...breathe...can't..._

Then she could! She coughed as something pulled her out of the water and onto the muddy shore. She coughed and coughed. Her lungs convulsed, her lips parted to allow her to gulp in air.  _The pain is gone -_ she realized in a daze.  _The pain is gone_. She looked at her hand, at the marking etched into it. Why was this symbol so wrong? Why did it cause her to cringe? It was larger now. What had once been a single rune was now a series of foreign lines and curves that blazed up her wrist and onto her forearm. She gasped, finally understanding. It wasn't trying to burn her; it was trying to consume her.

"Come here. Let me see it," came a frantic voice. The man with the sky blue eyes turned her over onto her back. Above them, the tear in the heavens gave off such a bright light that his face was thrown into shadow. Still fearful and unsure of his intentions, she tried to move away from him. He followed, grabbed at her arm, and pulled. Too weak to resist, she fell forward. Crashed into his chest. He ran his fingers over the fiendish writing on her skin. No. He shouldn't touch it. Poison. It was poison. She struggled. "Easy..." he murmured against her ear. "Easy,  _da'len."_

"T-That's not m-my name," she protested. Warm. He was so very warm. And she so cold. Freezing. Shivering. Shuddering. Teeth chattering. The water was to blame. The icy lake.

"Be still," he pleaded. Reaching up, he tore the fur cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. Warm. So warm. "I can help you. Please, let me help you."

"W-What is it?" the stranger within her gasped, eyes fixated on her hand. "Please...please remove it..."

"I cannot," he replied. "But I can keep it from growing. For now. Just for a little longer." Then his fingers lit up with an azure glow that enveloped her arm. A ticklish sensation - flower petals brushing against skin. "Don't be afraid," he hurried to say when she tensed. "It's just - "

"Magic," she breathed. That word sounded right, felt natural. It brought with it a wave of emotions: fear, trepidation, relief, and happiness. Strange. So strange.

"This may hurt. Please try to stay still." Though he warned her, she felt nothing. No pain. Just the cold. And weariness. The mark on her hand grew smaller and smaller until it looked almost like an ordinary tattoo on her palm. So tired. If only she could..."Don't sleep yet. Stay awake until you are warm," he commanded.

_Don't close your eyes...promise me!_

The voice echoed through time, reached out to her through a narrow gap in memory. Then gone again. Frustration gave her the strength to keep her eyes from falling closed, gave her some hope that perhaps not all was lost. If she could remember this much, then perhaps she could regain her past, understand who she was. Perhaps with such a goal, living wasn't so painful after all.

"If it w-wasn't you who awakened m-me...then w-who?" she asked the stranger.

"Perhaps it was the tear in the Veil. Do you not remember anything?" She shook her head, still shivering. Her eyes reflected the tear above.  _Determination._ She liked that word. It felt strong; felt like it could make her into something that was more than a shell.

"The s-sky can't stay like t-that," she said, her shivers finally receding.

"No. It can't."

"This mark is part of it, isn't it?" How could she have known that? Nothing was clear; nothing was certain. Except this. Suddenly, she felt the truth in her own words, felt the power in them. "I can feel it. They are connected." The man above shifted, moving his hand away from hers. The glow receded. The magic. She turned, twisted to see his face. High cheekbones, long eyelashes, a scar above his eye. Using her untainted hand, she reached up to try and feel his face. Eyes could be fooled; eyes could be tricked. But hands were strong; hands wouldn't lie. He jerked back when her cold fingers brushed against his jaw, a look of uncertainty marring his otherwise serene features.

"We must use the mark to close the tear," he revealed. "There isn't much time." He tried to hide it – the truth. She heard the hesitation in his voice. It wasn't as simple as using the mark.

"I may die," she whispered, daring to say what he would not. His eyes widened; he hadn't expected her to know. "It's alright. I'm not afraid." But she was. The terror hovered over her heart, a spectre warning her of the encroaching darkness.

"I am sorry," he stressed. "There is no other way."

"Take me there," she pleaded. "Take me to the tear." He nodded and helped her to her feet. When she would have returned his cloak, he shook his head and insisted that she keep it.

Walking hurt, not because of wounds or bruises, but because she knew that each step took her closer to her doom. Yet, each step also brought new clarity. Her mind began to feel less like splinters of thought and more like a single entity. She tried to fill the time with memory, tried to remember how she'd gotten here. But, the endeavor was fruitless. Locks of the hardest material locked away her past. Did it really matter if she remembered? Perhaps she'd been brought back for this single cruelty – to live again, only to die as a sacrifice to fix some kind of heinous deed.

She and the other elf spoke little during the walk through the Temple ruins. Her eyes hungrily took in everything around her. This place felt somehow familiar, important. She was certain that it was a part of her past. Broken pots and chests lay scattered among the rubble, resembling fragments of glass after the shattering of a mirror. Intricate designs colored their surface, some carvings worn away by age or disaster. Yet, they still looked beautiful. Their age gave them meaning, significance.

As they stepped further into the complex, she saw piles of corpses. Some were kneeling; others had died in contorted positions. Their skin and most of their flesh was burned off, some still burning even in the cold. Their mouths hung open, eyes looking up at the sky in unchecked horror. Some knelt in prayer, some in supplication. Others curled up on their sides, no doubt cursing their fates in their last moments. Still others stood straight, staring at the sky. Perhaps they'd been caught by surprise, unaware. Or perhaps they'd chosen to accept their deaths. The horror of it was almost unbearable.

"What happened here?" she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"An accident. A terrible mistake," the elf replied in cryptic fashion. As they reached the center of the ruins, she felt the chasm above swirl with anticipation. It seemed that, as she sensed it, it felt  _her_. For a few moments, she and Solas stood before it – watching it, observing. She knew what must be done, what she must give up. Duty tugged her forward; an unexplained lust for life held her back.

_I don't want to die here._

Yet that was why she'd come. Confused about the turmoil in her heart, she looked to her companion. His face was devoid of anything – like a painting or a mural.

"Are you ready?" he asked, glancing at her. Understanding shone out through his eyes, a sort of acceptance. She nodded. "I will protect you from the demons. Whatever you do, you must remain focused. If the Breach isn't sealed…"

"All will be lost," she finished for him.

"Yes."

 _This is the last time I will see him._ Somehow, that felt lonely. Solas. The only person she knew. Her world, aside from that warm campfire and the snowy wood. His back faced her, his shoulders hunched. Did he hold the world there? What was it that burdened him so? Perhaps, in another world, she could have known. Now…well…it was too late. Still, something about his melancholy brought her a physical pain. She stepped forward, unsure of what to do or say. In that moment he, too, reached out, and their fingers intertwined. How had he known that this was what she needed? How could he have guessed?

Then he turned, and she understood. He needed it as well.

"Did I know you?" she asked.

"Perhaps…nothing is impossible." His cryptic answer gave her no reassurance. Slowly, she unwound their hands and turned back to the rift. No more hesitation. The longer she waited, the less she wanted to leave. Without looking back at him, she moved towards her fate. Step by hesitant step, she closed the distance between her and the shifting tear. Step by step. Heartbeat by heartbeat. Breath by breath. Then, she stood beneath it. Waves of power washed over her – cold, unfeeling, unnatural.

She breathed in.

Prepared.

And reached.

Knowing that this might be her last action in this strange and beautiful world, she still raised her hand to meet the maelstrom. The knowledge was there, in the forefront of her mind. Not hers, but planted there by  _someone_. Not that it mattered. All that was of any consequence was the fact that she knew how to use the mark. Everything else – her possible failure, her possible death, the chance that the Breach would swallow the realm – none of it mattered. The first wave of resistance from the Breach nearly pushed her off her feet.

She held her ground. Then, like a moth emerging from its deep and boundless sleep, someone awakened in her soul. She felt them there, standing with her, keeping her upright. The mark on her hand flared to life, sending jolts of agony through her arm.

_Steady. Keep it steady. I will help._

Who are you? – she demanded, frightened.

_I am you. As you are myself. Though, soon, that is going to change._

We will die here – she cried out.

_No. You may yet live._

She struggled to stay on her feet. The force of the mark told her to kneel, to bend, to fall. But the mysterious voice held her up with ghostly arms, gave her the resolve to remain standing.

 _Heed me_  – the strange voice decreed in her mind.  _Heed me, for I am the one who shapes Fate._

In a flash of lightning, the mark connected. Like one piece of a soul crying out to another, it beckoned the energy of the Breach towards it. Closer and closer. Like a pair of star-crossed lovers, they merged. Their joining was as inevitable as the pull of gravity. As the connection was forged, she felt rending pain tear at her arm again. A drain. A hunger. The Breach yearned for a sacrifice. Immediately, she thought of the man with silver eyes. Her memories. They were a part of her. Surely if she gave them up…

_No. Don't let me go…Don't let me go…_

But I don't even know you! – she wanted to scream. The Breach silenced her, stole her voice and her breath.

_Please…don't let me go…_

The mark grew again, spitting fire and lightning as it burned up her arm to cover her shoulder. It snaked upwards, hissing as it carved into her neck and some of her face. The pain brought tears to her eyes. The thought of giving up the only part of herself that was true broke her heart. Still, it had to be done. She would not die here, not again. Something had given her life, and she had to understand why. Above, the tear groaned under a new burden.

With wide eyes, she watched as demon hands and claws began to pierce through the barrier. In a flash of light, the tear detonated, sending out shades, Despair, Desire, and lastly – Pride. The largest of them crashed to the ground in a great explosion of snow and dirt. She heard Solas's panicked shout, but couldn't turn to see what was happening. Right now, she needed to focus on closing the tear.  _Focus. Focus. FOCUS!_  Gritting her teeth, she pushed against the power in her hand, willing it to subdue the tear, willing it to take whatever it needed to do so. A screech behind her startled her, and she glanced back to see that a greater shade was bearing down upon her. Its body was black and charred, its hands deformed and ugly. A mouth opened to reveal rows of acid-coated fangs. Its grotesque mouth didn't form the words, but she heard them in her heart.

_**Kill…Kill…Kill you, eat you, devour you, break you…** _

_No!_  – she couldn't move. The mark held her in chains. With a soundless scream, she saw it raise its enormous claws and prepare to strike her down. It stopped just short of decapitating her, so close that she could smell its foul breath, could feel it fanning on her face as hot as molten lava. It wavered for a moment, poised over her, then fell to the ground, writhing in agony before turning to dust.

"Are you alright?" she looked up and saw a lion. Red and black fur made up its mane. Yet, it was human. Through the intricate metallic head, she saw eyes the color of rich earth. She wanted to say something, but the mark bound her to its will. The lion raised his sword and shield, slashing at another rage demon that dared to get too close. He'd saved her life. Lion, or human? She couldn't think anymore. Her thoughts muddled together; the drain on her strength continued as the mark captured her attention once again. Unable to thank her savior, she turned back to the tear. Demon eyes met her own. They whispered vile things inside her mind – taunting, teasing.

_**You have failed. You tried to live, and yet all you've ever done is bring death upon those you claimed to care for.** _

_Silence! I will not listen to you! –_ her other self snarled back.

_**Remember him. Remember them both. Shall I show you how desperately you failed them? Shall I say their names so that you might recall your insignificance?** _

_Stop it!_

_**Let's start with the most recent, with a man you claimed to call a friend. What was his name? Ah, yes…** _

_**Anders…** _

Horror mushroomed in her chest. Images flooded her mind, reopening wounds and scars she hadn't even known were there. As clear as day, she saw his face. Amber eyes – soft, loving, caring. Silken hair tied back. And then lips – a kiss as forbidden as sin.  _My friend…my dearest friend…_ her heart whispered. Then he was on fire. His clothing burned; his skin melted. All the while, the smile did not leave his face. She screamed, called to him, but her voice was gone. Silent. Just like him.

_**You couldn't save him.** _

_**Couldn't save him.** _

_**But we can bring him back.** _

_**Back for you.** _

_**Just leave. Let the tear open. Let us in.** _

"No!" she shouted, her voice hoarse. "Foul creatures! I will not give into you!" Through the haze of sorrow in her mind, she recognized that the one speaking wasn't her. It was her past - the woman that must have been her, once. She felt the connection and reached for it, hoping to understand it. But, it was impossible. Futile. She could never be that woman again.

 _Do not let them go. Keep them in your heart_  – the woman said.  _I must go, but your path doesn't end here. It only begins._

There were a thousand things she wanted to tell her past self, a thousand more answers that she needed. Who was she? What mistakes had led her to this point in time? How could she prevent them? Yet, more than anything, she wanted to know…

_Arianwen. That is our name. Take it with my blessing._

The demons within the tear howled in agony. At last! At last the mark was working! She held her hand as still as she could. The bones within felt brittle. Darkness crept at the corners of her vision, but she wasn't concerned. She couldn't be. Not when she watched as more emerald chains erupted from the symbol on her hand and wrapped around the tear. Pulling, tugging, forcing. The chains pulsated, shaking until – yes! – the maw of the tear began to shift closed. Each moment that passed felt like a century; each moment cost her everything. Yet, still – she stood. Brave, proud, unyielding. This was her past self; this was what she wanted her future to become.

Stand your ground.

Steel your heart.

Then, miraculously, it was over. The chains snapped and disintegrated. As the two sides of the tear came together and fused, they released a wave of heat and energy. The blast hit her full force and sent her flying. No matter. It was over. She flew through the air and hit one of the Temple walls. The back of her skull felt like it had been bludgeoned with a maul. Exhausted and on the verge of losing consciousness, she looked to the sky…

And cried.

It was not the end. Though the colossal rift had been sealed, the Breach remained. As darkness greeted her, she gave in, feeling as empty as the moment she awakened.


	4. The Herald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updating, everyone. I've been at the hospital. As it turns out, it's pretty difficult to write sane things on painkillers. However, writing this and knowing that people are reading and supporting me really helped me get through the worst times.
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

 

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No longer nameless, the girl called Arianwen awakened to a strange ceiling. Yellow straw and hay stabbed through porous panels between beams of wood, allowing streams of sunlight to filter through it like ethereal fingers. When the wind blew, she felt it and shivered. As she breathed in, she sensed that a storm was coming. Sweet, heavy, rain. Soon, the roof would be soaked with frigid water; soon, it would leak. Then, she would be colder. Perhaps the room would even flood. Yet, this didn't frighten her. Instead, her thoughts drifted on calm waters as she transitioned from a long and dreamless sleep into reality.

In this calm, she waded through memories. First, the snowy wood - white, frozen, beautiful. Then the campfire – crackling, warm, comforting. Meeting the mysterious Solas – frightening, strange, sorrowful. That memory caused a ripple on the surface. Then more as she went deeper, remembering the symbol on her hand and the agony of it searing up her arm. Trying to stop it; trying to end it. End. The world's end. The waters around her began to churn; her heart lurched from a placid beat into a run. She sat up with a gasp, her eyes unfocused as her mind replayed the chaos of the rift – the demons pouring out of it. She recalled the entity called the Breach, remembered her failure to seal it. That must be why she was still alive, because she'd failed. The mark had failed.

The mark.

Arianwen waited for the pain that the symbol would bring - opened her eyes wider when no such pain crippled her. She brought her hands before her eyes. No blood this time. No crimson rivers. The mark looked back at her - lifeless, dead, cold. Had it died in her place? She lamented the possibility. Without the mark, what purpose did her living serve? She could not remember anything of who she was. Perhaps she had a name now, but that didn't make her less of a hollow shell. A thought drifted to her. Where was she? Looking around the shabby room gave her too few clues: wooden walls, a small bed, a candle flickering on a desk, and the overwhelming smell of earthy Elfroot and tangy Rashvine. How she knew those smells made little sense, especially since she didn't understand the names her head put to them. _Elfroot. Rashvine_. Nonsense.

Her ears picked up the murmuring of voices outside her door.

"Those sound like excuses, Adan," a gruff masculine voice accused.

"Excuses?" a second voice complained, outraged. "Check the inventory, Commander. You'll find that what I say is nothing but the truth."

"If I check the inventory, I'll only find more evidence of your tampering," the first voice replied. "I'm warning you. The Herald's life is our top priority. If something should happen to her because of your negligence..." he left the threat hanging.  _Herald._  Another unfamiliar word. Herald of what?

Somewhere outside her room, a door opened and closed. The one with the gruff voice had left. She felt his presence disappear – like a sun setting to give way to night. The moment he left, the air grew quieter – less charged. Footsteps approached. The door to her room burst open and a lanky human dressed in colorful robes walked in. His clothes were lined with fur. White. Not red and black. Not like the Lion's. Nor brown, like Solas's. The only people she knew. Her world. Though perhaps this room could be counted now as well.

The intruder didn't seem to notice her. Instead, he rummaged through a large box he'd brought in with him.  _Glass_  - she thought as she heard the noise.  _Vials. Potions. Tonics_. Once, she'd known how to make them. The man cursed under his breath, the air around him seething. She tried to sense if he was like Solas, if he had magic. In her memory, Solas had almost seemed to glow. He carried an aura about him of mystery and ancient wisdom. This man, however, did not. He was just human. An angry human. As he sorted through his things, his movements sped up, becoming sharper and more agitated. When one of the vials fell out of the box and crashed to the floor, he hissed.

"Top priority," he spat, kicking the shards of glass out of his way. "Andraste's burning ass it is. The only reason they're so paranoid is because the city will riot if she doesn't-" he turned to her and dropped the box he was carrying, "...wake up?" Glass shattered, spilling liquids of all colors onto the floor. The wood absorbed them immediately. He made an odd sound in the back of his throat - almost like a whimper. "Awake...you're...awake..." Arianwen blinked at him, wary and unsure of what to do or say. The man didn't look surprised; he looked terrified. Surely she was not so frightening. Then she felt his thoughts race across to her and she understood a little more. Though his emotions were chaotic, she could make out a few things within the storm of objections and inner shouting. Something about her eyes made him uncomfortable.

"M-Monster..." he whispered. "D-Demon..." She reached out a hand, thinking to reassure him. He screamed and backed away, sending the desk flying to join the broken glass. She flinched, watching him run out of the room shouting at the top of his lungs. Not good. Did that mean he would bring more strangers here? More people who would call her a demon? Is that what she was? She looked at her hands. Impossible. She wasn't human, but she was mortal. Blood ran through her veins. A heart beat within her chest. She'd nearly died of her injuries. She was no demon. This body proved it.

 _You must never show them the truth_  - a voice whispered next to her ear. She gasped and turned around, thinking to see someone standing behind her. Emptiness greeted her gaze. She was alone. Arianwen stood up off the bed and wrapped her arms around herself. Someone had dressed her in odd clothing - too light and soft for winter.

 _Where is my armor?_  The grey and white chain was nowhere in sight. For reasons she couldn't comprehend, she felt naked without it. Vulnerable. At least nothing hurt. Well, maybe something did. When she turned her head too quickly, it throbbed. She dimly recalled hitting it during the battle. When she tried to feel for the injury, her fingers encountered gauze. Someone had wrapped it with great care. Outside, a bell rang. Panicked shouting echoed through the wind. She contemplated running away. More strangers meant danger. Yet, someone had cared enough to treat her wounds. Surely that meant she was safe here.  _Safe._  Odd that the meaning of that word was so far from what she felt. The front door to the hut flew open with a bang.

"Kill it! Kill the demon!"

"Protect the Herald!" Arianwen heard the clamor and backed up against the wall, afraid. She caught her reflection in a mirror, seeing her own face for the first time.  _Truly, the eyes of a monster –_ Arianwen thought. Golden with elongated black pupils – like a dragon. Or a demon. It couldn't be. She wasn't like those creatures that she saw at the Breach. Surely not.  _Please, no!_  The emotion tipped the scales. Just when she was certain that her mind was clearing, a fog settled over it once more.

 _They'll cut you down just for being what you are_  - that disembodied voice whispered again.  _Cut you down. Kill you. Rip you apart!_  The voice snarled, and she could envision a beast with fangs speaking to her. Arianwen felt her calm slipping away. Panicked now, she slid down and hid behind the headboard of the bed. Footsteps thundered towards her. Blightwolves, coming to sate their bloodlust. Monstrous, corrupt, vile. Teeth like serrated blades. Claws like rusted daggers. Their thoughts were boiling, churning, furious. They wanted to kill the demon, to protect the Herald. Of course,  _she_  was the demon. She was  _always_  the demon _. Just for being what you are!_  The last words acted like a trigger that opened a gate in her mind. Images flooded out like a tsunami, so overwhelming that she rushed to slam the barrier shut again. Too late, however. The images grasped at her, each demanding her attention until they blurred into a jumble of words and scenery.

 _Avenge us...Avenge our family_...an old man demanded as he gripped her hand. Blood swirled around him. His tears were crimson.

 _Join us, brothers and sisters_...another man lifting a silver cup in the air.

_You made my daughter into a monster! You've tainted her! Maker damn you! Maker curse you!_

A dragon touching her face with a claw as it spoke -  _How ironic that someone like you would envy me._

 _You can't go on like this, Arian_  - a silver-eyed youth begged. His face was laden with sorrow.

_**Stop! Stop! Someone make it stop!** _

"Herald! Herald, are you alright?" someone was shouting. Was it real, or was she still trapped in the flood of memories? She opened her eyes. Hadn't realized she'd closed them in the first place. Above her stood the Lion, the same one that had rescued her during her attempt to seal the Breach.  _At last!_  - her mind cried.  _Safe. Safe_. He reached out a hand, and she took it without reservation. He was bright, like his own sun. Though he had no magic in his blood, something about him felt warm and strong. He pulled her up, out from behind the bed. His thoughts were calm, rational. He looked at her and saw only a girl.  _Safe._  Something about the way she was dressed bothered him. He grabbed the blanket from the bed and threw it around her shoulders then wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her while she caught her breath.

"Commander," someone called. "Where is the demon?"

"There  _is_  no demon," the Lion snapped. "I swear, when I get my hands on that Orlesian lunatic..." Instead of finishing his sentence, he reached up and removed his helm. Golden hair fell forward, just long enough to brush against his cheekbones. He raked it back with a gloved hand, turning to look at her through eyes the color of sun-kissed earth. "Are you alright?" She nodded, her eyes falling to a scar that marred one side of his mouth. Two other men were in the room, she noticed. They clamored to look at her, but the Lion held his ground, covering her body from view.

"Commander Cullen, is everything alright?" Two other men and a woman filed into the room, their swords drawn.  _To kill you_  - the voice reminded her. Arianwen struggled to calm her thundering heart, clutching at her chest as though the motion might soothe the pain there.

"Everyone out!" The soldiers snapped to attention at his order, bowing before stepping out and closing the door."Maker," the Lion cursed under his breath. He stepped away from her. She sensed he was uncomfortable being so close. In fact, after that first time, he refused to look her in the eyes.

 _The eyes of a monster_...Ignoring the voice, Arianwen wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

"Do I frighten you as well?" she ventured, afraid of his response.

"What?" he asked, his eyes wide when he turned around. The moment he looked at her again, she saw a red flush spread from the neckline of his armor to his cheeks. "No. It's not that. Just that...well, that is..." He cleared his throat, started to say something, then changed his mind. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck. "If everything is alright, I should go. I'll call a servant to assist you, Herald." When he tried to retreat out the door, she grabbed the plating on his shoulder. The slightest touch, but he felt it. Stopped. Still, he wouldn't turn; she wanted him to - wanted to see the safety in his eyes.

"Why do you call me 'Herald'?"

"You are the Herald of Andraste. At least, to the people of Haven." She tilted her head to the side, his words making little sense. At least it was better than demon.

"Andraste? Who is that?" At last, he glanced at her. His surprise was tangible.

"You...are you serious?" She simply stared at him, wondering why he thought she might not be. "Andraste, she's...the prophet." When she kept staring at him, he tried again. "Bride of the Maker?"

"Who is that?" For a moment, he waited, hope bright in his eyes. However, when he found no recognition of his words in her expression, he brought his hand to his face and rubbed at his temples. A sort of laugh escaped him - bitter, almost.

"People outside are...and protests...and the Chantry..." he glanced at her, "...and you  _don't even know_." He shook his head. His emotions were well guarded, not open like the first man's. She had to reach out to feel them. Even when she tried, she could only sense a limited amount of dread, confusion, and irritation. At least it was something, a clue to understanding how she should act.

"You are upset. Please," she tried to recall the name his soldiers had used, "Cullen. Commander. What is happening? Where am I?" She hoped he could give her some answers. Perhaps if she understood more about her situation, her mind would clear again.

"It will be easier to show you," he replied then looked away. "But first, please stay here. I'll have someone help you dress."

* * *

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When Cullen stepped outside, he leaned into the cool breeze. The fresh air took away some of the stress of the afternoon, but not all. When Adan had come barging into the building he used as a make-shift office, he hadn't expected the man to start raving about a demon in the Herald's quarters. Nor did he anticipate how quickly the ridiculous claim would spread through the barracks. His men were geared and ready for battle before he could properly discredit the addled alchemist. At that point, he'd had no choice but to try and restore order in the best way possible. Unfortunately, that involved physically showing his men that there was no tangible threat.

 _Everyone has lost their minds with this Herald business_  – he fumed.  _It's gone too far._  He would need to speak with the Seeker. Fortunately, she wasn't far. Cassandra stood right outside the door to the Herald's cottage, her arms crossed over her chest in a way that had become all too familiar lately. He had no doubt that the soldiers had relayed the entire escapade to her in full - if not exaggerated - detail. He leaned against the doorframe, careful not to step on the plethora of flower baskets and parcels lying on the ground. He hadn't lied to the Herald; the people of Haven were taking their new beliefs a little too seriously. Pilgrims had started arriving just days prior, claiming that they traveled across the country to see the chosen of Andraste and to receive her blessing. News that she was injured trying to seal the Breach incensed the crowd, as did the fact that she hadn't woken up for over a week. Cullen had already informed his officers of plans in case riots started breaking out.

"I understand you spoke to her," Cassandra said, her tone bland.

"Was that before or after your appointed healer almost scared her to death?"

"After," Cassandra replied. "And he isn't mine. I don't know who appointed him. Nor do I care. He knows herbs and he can help the wounded. That's all that matters."

"And the fact that he's been filching supplies from our stores?"

"It's not my business. Talk to Leliana. I hear she's in charge of that."

"So why are you here?"

"Damage control," she glared. "Explain something to me. Why would a sane man run out of hut screaming that he'd seen a demon?" Cullen suspected he knew why, though he wasn't certain how to phrase his answer in such a way that wouldn't anger the Seeker further.

"First of all, Adan is far from sane. I have a strong suspicion that he's been misusing our stores of healing herbs. That and the girl's eyes, they're...unusual." Well _that_  certainly wasn't good enough. Too bad he hated being on the spot during such times. He had trouble describing exactly what it was he'd seen. Eyes like the sun, pupils like a cat's. Those orbs had been hypnotic; even her words had seemed to cast a spell on him. He'd sound possessed if he said that, though. Not to mention, remembering her eyes required remembering that the girl had also been half-naked in her undergarments. This wouldn't do. Not at all. "I think he was just surprised."

"And  _you_? Her eyes didn't bother you?"

"No. I thought they were rather..." he searched for a proper word. Lovely? Exotic? Incredible? In the end, he left the comment unfinished. "What does this have to do with the situation?" he asked evasively.

"We don't know what happened to her after the Breach. She could be an abomination." Cullen raised his brow. "Don't deny me yet, Cullen. Think about it. If there is even the slightest chance..."

"So what? We kill her? And what happens next?"

"Riots, mobs with pitchforks, and the usual fun and games, I think," Varric cut in, stepping out from the other end of the cottage. "And before you ask - no, I wasn't watching the whole thing through the window." Cassandra didn't look pleased to see him.

"Where is Solas?" she demanded. "I sent you to find him."

"I'm not your errand boy, Seeker. I looked for him in his usual haunts, but he was nowhere to be found. Clearly, he's avoiding you. Either that, or he's long gone. Wouldn't blame him if he was."

"I don't have time for this," Cassandra snapped.

"Yeah? Well maybe you should try less of the imprisonment and threats of execution next time."

"He stole my horse..."

"Returned it."

"He kidnapped the Herald of Andraste..."

"Returned her, too. Not to mention, you don't even believe that's what she is."

"He's an apostate."

"So is half of Thedas. Tell me something I  _don't_  know." Cullen took a deep breath, willing himself not to join in the argument. That's all the Inquisition leaders seemed to do these days - argue about management and resources. What they really needed was someone to finalize their decisions - someone that could give orders and keep the peace. Leliana and Cassandra couldn't lead. Should they try, the Chantry would label them as power-hungry usurpers. He wanted nothing to do with the position, and Josephine…well, she was happy in her current role. Cullen couldn't envision her as a leader. She seemed too…diplomatic and soft. He started when the door to the cottage creaked open. The servant he'd sent to assist the Herald peeked out from the doorway.

"Commander, Lady Seeker, the Herald is ready." Cullen gestured for her to proceed. The door opened the rest of the way. For a moment, nothing happened. The servant motioned for the girl to come forward. Cassandra and Varric were still arguing when she did. The moment she stepped out into the light, however, their voices faded to the background. The servant had cleaned her up nicely, and even though Cullen felt he had long passed the age when a pretty face could completely derail his train of thought, he still felt quite flustered. In the light, her eyes stood out even more, as did the intricate lines on her face. She was dressed in a dark brown canine leather tunic that accented her long neck and reached down past her hips. Loose leggings and knee-high boots accented her long legs. She reminded him a bit of a doe – small, graceful, and delicate.

"Well, well," Varric chuckled. "If it isn't the chosen one, herself. Good morning, Your Worship. How are you feeling?" Cullen didn't appreciate the dwarf's sarcasm but wasn't sure how to reprimand him for it. Not that it would help. It seemed that Varric was always chewing on some sort of figurative bitter fruit. At least, that was Cullen's explanation for why he was often in a sour mood.

"These boots are...strange. I can't feel the earth or the grass," she said, her voice light and airy like a feather. He saw her wiggle her toes and resisted the temptation to smile. There was an innocent air about her, almost like a curious child. How could Cassandra even suggest that she was an abomination? She was certainly unusual, but perhaps it was just her nature. Now that they were standing on level ground - and now that she was dressed - he had a much easier time noticing things about her. Such as the fact that her skin was darker than he'd realized and that he towered over her by at least two heads. Were all elves so small? He glanced at the beaming servant girl. She was taller than the Herald, too.

"Thank you for your assistance, Cullen Commander," she nodded. Varric snorted.

"I like this one," he grinned.

"Is something…funny?" she asked.

"Well, 'Commander' isn't a name. It's more like a title – sort of like General."

"Oh. Then, should I simply call you by your title?" she ventured, blinking up at Cullen. He looked away before he could stop himself, feeling uncomfortable being the center of attention.

"Either one is fine."

"I call him Curly," Varric smiled.  _Maker, I hope that doesn't catch on_  – he prayed.

"What are all these?" the girl asked, pointing to the baskets.

"Gifts from the villagers," Varric nodded.

"For the Herald?"

"For  _you_ ," he emphasized. "That  _is_  you, right?" The girl didn't answer. Her eyes looked glazed as they inspected first Varric, then Cassandra. The Seeker straightened her shoulders almost imperceptibly when the girl caught her gaze but remained silent. Cullen could see the gears in her mind working. She was taking note of everything the girl said and did – judging her wordlessly.

"You don't like him," the girl observed. "The short one. And he doesn't like you. Though I feel that you don't like me, either." Ignoring the looks of surprise, she captured Cullen's attention. "Where am I? What is this place?"

"Haven, the heart of the Inquisition," Cullen answered.

"The Inquisition? What is that?" Before he could reply, he heard shouting. A crowd was quickly gathering around them, all pointing to the Herald. The girl's eyes widened, and she took a few steps back. "Don't worry," he rushed to reassure her. "They won't hurt you." Why had he said that? He wondered if he pitied her. Solas had mentioned that she had lost her memories. He couldn't imagine how difficult that must make the situation for her. Thrown into and out of the Fade, touched with some strange mark, then forced to face demons to close the Breach. And now people were calling her the Maker's chosen.

"They're just here to worship you," Varric consoled her. "Give 'em a wave. They'll love it."

"This isn't right," Cullen heard her whisper. "I am not anyone's chosen." Cassandra snapped to attention. A movement at the cottage doorway startled him. Solas appeared from the shadows like a specter, looking more displeased than Cullen had ever seen him.

"Where have you been?" Cassandra growled. The Mage ignored her, instead choosing to approach the Herald and place a hand on her shoulder. She jumped a little at the contact, but looked relieved when she saw him.

"Solas," her eyes softened.

"You've awakened," he said then turned to Cassandra. "I have searched for answers but found nothing of significance. For now, I suggest we move the Herald to safety."

"Safety?" Cassandra looked dubious. "What isn't safe about -" The crowd hovered closer. Someone shouted something about a blessing and grabbed at the girl's tunic. She tried to pull back, but the man held fast. A woman knelt down at her feet and began to chant. A third person pressed a basket of flowers against her while yet another tried to get close to give her his own gift. All the while, more and more people gathered. Cullen was beginning to see the danger. Solas frowned and lowered his voice.

"Her magic isn't stable. If she's frightened, she could lash out involuntarily." That was all the reason Cullen needed.

"People of Haven," he called out as he stepped in front of the girl. In one swift motion, he pried the man's hands from her tunic and pushed her behind him. "Please! The Herald isn't well and needs time to recover from her ordeal. Please, let us pass."

"Let the Herald speak!" someone clamored.

"Let her speak!"

"We want to hear her voice!" Cullen hesitated. This wasn't good. Behind him, he heard Solas mumble something to the girl in elven. She argued for a while. Then -

"Alright. If that is for the best..." she said. Stepping around him, she addressed the crowd. "People of Haven, I must tell you the truth. I am no one's chosen, nor am I a prophet or a miracle that can close the tear in the sky. The truth is that..." she paused, seeming to gather her courage, "the truth is that I have failed you all. I was going to close the Breach. I was ready to die for it. Instead, all I could do was stop it from growing. If I was truly the chosen of your holy ones, surely I would have been successful. Please, I am grateful for your gifts. I am honored by your kindness. However, I am  _not_  Andraste's Herald." Cullen stood back, shocked and speechless. That she would have the courage to admit something that none of them had dared to – she was either demented or brave beyond belief. He looked out at the faces in the crowd and waited for the people to erupt in fury. How would this reflect on the Inquisition? Would they lose whatever unity they'd managed to obtain?

"I think we should go before they snap out of it," Varric mumbled. Cullen couldn't agree more. Taking the girl's hand in his, he cut a path through the stunned crowd to the Chantry.

* * *

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"What were you  _thinking_?" Cassandra demanded once they were safely inside.

"What is it, Seeker?" Varric chimed in. "Weren't you the one that kept telling us to cut the act?"

"Yes, but not like this," she insisted, pacing the length of the room.

"It may not all turn out poorly," Josephine argued from her typical spot in the corner of the room. She and Leliana had been waiting for them in the Chantry. The spymaster had yet to give her input on the situation.

"I knew this would end badly," Varric grumbled.

"I'm sorry," the Herald murmured, her voice nearly drowned out by the arguing.

"You told them the truth," Solas countered. "If they choose not to believe or, worse, to cling to a lie then there is nothing you can do."

"We have bigger problems," Leliana pointed out. She pushed off the spot on the wall that she'd been leaning on and walked to the elven girl's side. From her pocket, she withdrew a small piece of parchment. She handed it to Cullen with a nod. As he unfolded it and read the contents, he frowned.

"What is it?" Varric asked.

"It looks like the Chantry has chosen to do everything they can to smear the name of the Inquisition. They are denouncing the Herald publicly."

"Where is this taking place?" Cassandra inquired, taking a seat.

"Val Royeaux."

Varric whistled. "Now that's quite a trek. Few days hard riding at least." They argued about how they should respond. Cullen watched in silence, feeling as helpless as he always did during these proceedings. Each of them had their own opinions on how things should be handled and none of them wanted to relent. He didn't fool himself into thinking he wasn't at fault as well. The trouble was that he was the Commander of the Inquisitions forces – troops and soldiers that had yet to be trained. What could he contribute aside from offering inexperienced men to the cause? In his mind, their first priority should have been hiring trainers. However, Cassandra and Leliana felt differently. They felt that the Inquisition should focus only on sealing the Breach and finding support for doing so. As much as he argued that without soldiers, they wouldn't be able to accomplish anything, the two women couldn't see things from his perspective.

"We can't let the Chantry do this to us," Leliana insisted. "We must do  _something_."

"We have no choice," Josephine stated. "We must make an appearance to deny these charges."

"It isn't so simple," Leliana argued. "My agents say that the city is currently housing a large number of Templars."

"That's good, no?" Josephine remarked. "We wanted to offer them an alliance to seal the Breach, did we not? Perhaps this is a good opportunity."

"We don't know if they're in league with the Chantry," Cullen interjected. That started another argument. Feeling like they were at an impasse, Cullen chose to stay out of it. Reaching into his side pocket, he felt for the coin that he'd kept with him from the day he left home to join the Order. His brother had insisted that it would bring him luck. How he wished that it truly was magical. How he wished that he could pray to the Maker and still have hope that he would somehow take notice. Those times were long gone, however. In the present, there was only room for pragmatism and logic. He glanced at the Herald. Through all this, she sat still as stone, her expression neutral. He wondered what she thought of all this.

"Let the Herald speak to them," Josephine offered. "Perhaps they will listen to reason." Cullen thought of the Templars that Leliana had mentioned. Though he'd left the Order, he still had a few contacts who occasionally reported to him. If their letters were to be believed, the Templars had gone past righteous judgment. They wouldn't hesitate to kill any Mage that didn't submit to them outright.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "Or maybe they'll just try to do her harm. She is a Mage, and that's going to complicate things even more."

"They can't just ignore us, or the power that she's got," Varric suggested, pointing to the girl's hand.

"Actually, they can," Josephine disagreed. "We don't currently hold much influence, and with the Chantry calling us blasphemers…" she left the rest to the imagination. Cullen didn't need to struggle to imagine how badly this could go.

"This is all assuming that the Herald actually agrees to go," the dwarf pointed out. Odd, for somehow Cullen hadn't considered that she might refuse. As he looked up at his companions, their expressions suggested that they hadn't considered the girl's consensus, either. The Herald, meanwhile, still hadn't said a word. The way her hands were clutching at her tunic suggested that she was upset, perhaps even concerned. Her eyes, however, were unreadable. When a few minutes passed without a response, Solas addressed her in elven.

"Speak plainly," Cullen snapped, surprised at his short temper. He was usually more in control. He was tempted to apologize, but something about the elf's expression made him reconsider.

"If that is what you wish," Solas agreed. "I was simply trying to explain the risks of what you are attempting to get the Herald to agree to. If we follow your directive and allow her to go to the city, she will be at risk – not just from Templars, but from a fanatical Chantry."

"Commander," their conversation was interrupted when the servant girl from earlier knocked on the door. He gestured for her to enter and she did, carrying a tray with a steaming mug on it.

"What is that?" he asked when she placed it on the table in front of the girl.

"Medicine for the Herald," she curtsied. "Is there anything I could bring you, Commander? Lady Seeker? My Lady?" She looked between him, Cassandra, and Leliana. Solas didn't seem surprised at the fact that she completely ignored him.

"No, that will be all," Cassandra waved.

"Thank you," Cullen added. As she disappeared out the door, the Herald took the mug in her hands, turning it nervously.

"Perhaps some introductions are in order before we proceed," Solas offered. "You already know myself and the Commander. You've met Cassandra, though I don't believe you've been formally introduced." He pointed to the dwarf.

"Varric Tethras," the rogue cut in. "Pleasure to meet you, though I have to say…I don't think I've ever met a divine being before."

"I am not anyone's chosen," the girl repeated, distressed by Varric's words.

"Whoa, now. No need to get upset, little lady."

"Varric always talks like that," Cullen noted. The girl remained silent. "So, what is your name?" She hesitated for a moment before bowing her head.

"I believe my name is Arianwen. During the events at the Breach…I think I remembered it."

"Is that all you remember?" Leliana asked. "Do you remember walking out of the Fade?" Arianwen shook her head.

"There are…pieces…but nothing that makes sense." Cullen had a feeling that she wasn't completely honest about that. And who could blame her? She had the look of a trapped mouse that knew it was going to be eaten. "I thank you for taking care of my injuries all this time."

"So what do you think, Lady Arianwen?" Cullen inquired. Their eyes met. "About going to speak with the Chantry?" he added helpfully.

"I'm not sure. Why do you want  _me_  to do this? I am not the Herald."

"Perhaps not," Cassandra agreed. "But the Chantry believes you are. That may be enough for what the Inquisition needs."

"That isn't all," the girl lamented. "What can I do without my memories and so little understanding of this world?" She gestured outside. "When I was walking through that crowd, I didn't recognize anyone. Buildings looked foreign. The lands looked foreign. I do not know these trees, or these winds. I can hardly recognize my own voice..." she brushed her fingers against her cheek, "…or my face." There it was again - that odd sensation that her words were casting a spell on him. Or perhaps it was just the way she spoke, with a unique rhythm that captured his full focus. "You say I am a Mage. That word means little to me. I do not know if I can use magic like Solas, or a sword like you." She pointed to Cullen's belt. "I am elven. Perhaps I am skilled with a bow."

"We could find out," Cullen suggested. "You could work with Solas." He looked for assistance from the elf and was surprised when the Mage complied.

"It's true. We could find out if you are able to cast spells. You have magic in your blood. I've seen it."

"You would...do this for me?" She looked genuinely surprised. "Even though it seems that I've set your village against you?"

"They'll get over it," Varric shrugged. "That's one thing about fame, little lady. One minute people are ready to kiss your ass, and the next they're throwing you out of a tavern for an overdue tab." Cullen tried not to smile, fearing that the expression would be inappropriate in the face of Arianwen's genuine distress.

"You don't approve," she said, glancing at Cassandra. "You still feel that I am responsible."

"For what?" the Seeker demanded waspishly.

"For the sky, for the explosion, for the death of - "

"How would you know that?" the Seeker glared.

"I  _don't_  know. I just..." she looked down, as though a sudden thought occurred to her. Solas's eyes snapped to her, narrowing. Cullen suddenly felt on edge.

"Perhaps it is a consequence of the mark," the Mage filled in. Too quickly, Cullen thought. Almost like he was covering for her. But why? Arianwen turned the mug in her palms a few more times, then lifted it to take a sip.

"Wait," Varric called. He stopped her just as she was about to touch it to her lips. "Hold on." With a gesture, he silently requested to see the medicine. Cullen raised a brow. The dwarf brought it closer and took in a deep breath. Dipping in a finger, he tasted it then abruptly made a sound of disgust and threw the mug to the ground. The ceramic shattered.

"What in the Maker's name – " Cassandra rose from her seat. Varric raised his hand, his expression grave.

"That isn't any kind of medicine I know," he stated bluntly. "It's poison."


	5. Facets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for all of your supportive PM's and awesome reviews. I sincerely appreciate it, and I'm feeling a lot better now.
> 
> I'm so happy to be able to present another chapter, and I hope that you enjoy :)

 

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Though it was a warm evening, Solas shivered. Each Mage's magic felt very different, and Arianwen's reminded him of warm and fragrant spring. The protective spells were soothing and calm, while her offensive magic reminded him of the wrath of nature herself. As she cocooned him in a magical barrier, he felt his skin thrilling at the sensation. His pores tingled with awareness; as the energy washed over him, he felt her focus within - her desire to protect. Good girl. Just like he'd taught her. He'd just shown her the spell less than an hour ago, yet she had already mastered it to near perfection. She learned and grew at an incredible rate, a fact he was convinced meant that she had been a powerful Mage in the past. Her magic was unique – one of the few things left in the world that left him truly fascinated. And fascinated he  _was_ , not just with her mysterious origins or the powers they'd been discovering together for the past several days, but with  _her_.

Solas watched her mold and shape mana into a sphere around him, watched as her golden eyes seemed to glow in the emerald light of it, and felt his chest constrict. This was dangerous. He had never been able to resist learning more about something he didn't understand, and Arianwen offered a whole new world of possibilities that begged to be studied. Everything about her screamed unanswered and undiscovered mystery, including the mark on her hand which was – unfortunately – too familiar. When she finished shaping the barrier, she looked to him for guidance and approval. He gave it to her readily, feeling no need to withhold anything from her. She took both compliments and criticism in stride.

"Good," he said. "Now release it."

"Is this all I can do with it?" she asked. Solas blinked and tilted his head to the side, watching as she adjusted something in the spell. "If I just change this…" The sphere around him shuddered then split into two. The magic shimmered with an emerald tone much like the inside of a clam in the ocean. A second bubble appeared around her, layers forming on top of layers until she was shielded just as much as he was. Through the magic, he sensed her pride in her accomplishment and her desire to do more - to learn more, and to  _be_  more. Enthralled, he allowed her to experiment, basking in her curiosity. "Perhaps I can even add something…" With wide eyes, Solas watched the spheres catch fire. The wind around them picked up speed. He felt the air shudder with power.

"Careful," Solas cautioned. "If you add too many trappings, you will exhaust yourself." Despite his warning, he was thoroughly impressed. A barrier was a fairly basic spell, yet he knew that many Mages struggled to fully master it. It took precise control to shape the sphere and provide even protection on all sides. Some Mages put too much emphasis on the front, thus leaving themselves open for strikes from behind. Attention to detail was critical here, and adding another element into the equation? That was highly advanced magic. Yet, without any guidance from him, Arianwen had just shown him she could manage it with ease.

"And now," she lifted her arms skyward. The barriers bloated outward and expanded until they exploded with concussive force. The blast flattened the swaying grass. Trees groaned as their trunks were bent and pushed. The barrier's fire roared as it spread outward, yet none of it harmed the surrounding plants. Nothing was set ablaze. "How was that?" Arianwen grinned. "I tried to do what you said, Solas. This way, I can hurt the enemy without hurting allies."

"Well done," he nodded. The girl lapped up information from everything he said, absorbing it directly and without interference. There was no need for a seive or filter between them. He passed his knowledge onto to her as though through glass. There was no judgement in her eyes – no prejudice or pre-formed beliefs. She took what he said at face value and asked for more - begged, even. She was starved for knowledge, and he was more than happy to share it. The bond this formed between them was extraordinary. In just a few days, he felt a profound connection to this girl, almost like he'd known her for centuries. Almost like…

 _No. Do not dwell on it_  – his mind warned. Yet he couldn't deny the truth of his thoughts. For so many years, he'd formed such bonds with spirits in the Fade. Like this girl, they were pure and honest. Those were spirits, though - beings that had a certain purpose and rarely strayed from it. He'd never imagined that he could find a mortal with such traits. Her innocence was refreshing – a balm that warmed his heart and made him want to protect her from the darker aspects of the world. Even as he thought this, he knew it wasn't possible. Not with the Breach hanging over them. Not with the Inquisition breathing down their necks. No matter how much he might want to shelter her, the Breach had thrown her from the Fade into this world, and from the very first there were those who wanted to use her for their own ends.

Arianwen laughed, excited that her experimentation was bearing fruit. His mind had a tendency to wander to dark places, but this girl's happiness often took him from that path. For reasons he still couldn't understand, he found himself smiling with her. The joy she shared with him was quite contagious, and despite the protests of his logic and rationale, he partook of it as frequently as he could manage. He knew that she must be tired, however. They'd been practicing most of the day, and he could see a fine sheen of sweat coat her brow. He had tried to loan her his staff to make things easier, but she refused, saying that it felt more natural to cast without it. A mystery. Most Mages felt helpless without their staves, but she insisted that it made casting feel bulky. Not to mention, she had shown an interesting proficiency with blades and daggers and wanted her hands free to work with them.

"Let me try another," she begged.

"Careful,  _lethallan_. It is wise to practice and perfect your skills, but all such things have a price. Your body will hurt and you will be exhausted."

"Just one more," Arianwen assured him. "I'd like to try the stepping you showed me. I'll use you as my target." Before he could say anything against it, she ran back a ways and waved to him. Though he was still concerned that she was overworking herself, he couldn't help but hope that she would succeed. This was the one spell that she hadn't been able to master yet. It was, in fact, not so much a spell as it was a manipulation of the Veil – the barrier between the Fade and this realm. He watched her stand still and saw her close her eyes in focus.

Some time passed – minutes, perhaps – yet still she stood. He knew that she was giving it everything she had, and felt a tension build inside his abdomen.  _Come on –_  he urged.  _Just focus. Concentrate on the cusp. Feel your body become as intangible as air. Feel it merge with the Veil._  One more minute. Then two. He was about to tell her that she was likely too drained when he saw her image waver. He blinked, and she was gone. Solas whirled around, thinking he'd find her behind him. But, the forest clearing was empty. When several more minutes passed by without her reappearing, Solas felt worry gnaw at him. What had she done? Had she stepped somewhere she didn't mean to? The spell wasn't a simple one, and not just any Mage could master it. Had something gone wrong? Knowing that the technicalities of the spell worked closely with the Fade, he thought perhaps the mark had interfered somehow.

" _Da'len_?" he called out, his eyes searching the forest. He tried to listen for her voice. Perhaps she had stepped too far and was calling for him as well. He didn't like the thought of her being alone and afraid somewhere. Yet all he could hear was the rustling of the windswept trees and an eerie silence. Solas hadn't realized up until now how much sounds and life Arianwen brought with her. Now that she was gone, the air felt too empty - almost lonely. Solitude was not a new experience for him, but...His grip tightened on his staff.

"Arianwen," he called, his heart rate accelerating. "Arianwen, where are you?" The air behind him suddenly popped. He twisted around to see a very pleased looking face, her eyes full of excitement.

"I did it!" she breathed, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. "I Fadestepped! I did just as you said. I imagined the Veil and the barrier and the cusp and tried to make myself incorporeal and - " her flood of words ground to a halt. Solas was surprised to see that his hand was gripping her shoulder.

"Solas?"

 _She disappeared –_ his inner voice quavered.  _She disappeared._

"Solas, is everything alright?"

"Yes," he said in as calm a tone as he could manage. He pulled back his hand. Arianwen blinked, seemingly oblivious to his concern.

"What  _is_  the Fade?" she went on to ask. "I understand what you explained about the Veil, and I understand that it's another realm, but…what is it? Maybe if I understand more then it will be easier to work the spell."

"An excellent question," he replied, relieved that she didn't notice anything amiss. That, and the atmosphere was back to normal. The loneliness was gone. "The Fade is where dreams take shape. When you sleep, your spirit goes to the Fade and walks within." She glanced up at him and her smile widened.

"Please tell me more? Tell me everything. I want to know it all." Her voice sounded breathless, full of life and energy.

"Perhaps another time,  _da'len_ ," he murmured. The endearment suited her too well and rolled off his tongue too naturally. As his eyes roamed over her face, he felt compelled to brush a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. The desire scared him, and he quickly restrained himself, turning aside instead. This creature made him forget about many things – about certain obligations and duties that he had yet to fulfill. This would not do. He could not allow himself to be a part of this. Should he allow himself to touch her, he feared that it would be his undoing. And perhaps hers as well.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, somehow communicating much without uttering a single word. It wasn't the same kind of silence with her here. It was fuller - richer, somehow. The trees swayed around them in the wind. Knee-length grass brushed against their clothing. As the sun gave quarter to the moon, the surrounding foliage took on a paler hue. Solas knew what he should say. It was time to return to Haven. Yet, standing here with her – being in the company of another living soul – felt too precious. He knew that once they returned to the village, he would have to escort her into someone else's care – either Cassandra's or Leliana's. Or the Commander's. He wasn't sure why, but that particular thought troubled him. They'd been taking turns watching over her since the day Varric had discovered foul play.

"You are worried…" she said. He glanced at her. "I can feel it. You do not wish to return to Haven."

"You've made several observations like this during your stay here," he noted. "How do you know such things?"

"I  _don't_  know," she confessed, covering her chest with a small hand. "I just feel." She raised her hands in the air and closed her eyes, tipping her face up to meet the wind. The breeze toyed with her hair, its fingers caressing the long tresses as he longed to do. When she opened her eyes and looked at him again, her smile was gentle yet somehow mournful. "Sometimes, I can hear the wind whispering to me. Or the trees. Though in the Wilds, the forest had more magic than it does here." Such a mystery, even to herself. The intuition she displayed was unique – almost like a spirit. Yet she was flesh and blood, a mortal in all aspects. How was it possible?

"The Wilds," he echoed. "Is that where you are from?"

"Most likely," she replied, her smile withering. "I can't remember, but I have many thoughts that relate to that forest. Words, too.  _Clan_ , and  _Keeper_." She brushed her fingers against the  _vallaslin_  on her face. "Leliana says I am Dalish because of these marks. But, that word doesn't sound familiar.  _Dalish_.  _Vallaslin_." Her eyes captured his once more. " _Hahren_." That word stirred something in him, yet another facet of unfamiliar and unwelcome emotions that Arianwen seemed able to provoke with disturbing ease.

"There's a strong possibility that you might be part of one such Clan, though that still doesn't explain how you are connected to the mark," he offered, working to keep his voice steady and his expression neutral. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice his discomfort.

"Why do you think the mark hasn't glowed since the Breach?" she inquired, derailing the conversation.

"I can't be certain," he replied truthfully.

"Is it dead?"

"Dead? No. Dormant, perhaps. Like all things of magic, it must sleep for a time to regain its strength."

"Like all things? But isn't the mark special?"

"Perhaps it is, but it is still magical – a part of our world – and thus follows a certain set of rules."

"Rules?"

"Indeed." He raised his hand and summoned fire above his palm. "When we cast a spell, we use mana and energy. Surely you've felt it,  _da'len_  – how tired you are after practicing magic most of the day. It is the natural way of things. You expended energy, so you must rest. The mark on your hand is no different." Arianwen examined her hand, tracing the faded symbol there with a finger.

"When will it wake up again? We need it."

"To seal the Breach, you mean. There is still time."

"No," she shook her head. "In a few days, we will be going to a place called the Hinterlands. Cassandra says there are rifts there," she frowned, "…I'll need the mark to seal them." A sigh. "She is worried that I will fail."

"Did she tell you that?"

"She didn't need to."

 _That strange intuition again –_ Solas thought.  _I've only ever seen spirits in the Fade display such keen senses._

"Come,  _da'len_. We should – "

"Return to Haven," she finished for him. "I'm sorry, Solas."

"For…?"

"Saying strange things that make you uncomfortable." So she  _had_ noticed after all. The hurt on her face could not be missed. He wondered what she must feel like. No memories, no knowledge of herself, only a few people she could barely trust, and now – someone sought her death. As she brushed past him and headed towards the direction of the path to Haven, he reached out and grabbed a hold of her arm. To see such an expression on her face felt wrong, even more so because he knew that he was responsible. She turned to him, her eyes full of surprise and questioning. He couldn't hope to explain his actions, for he didn't understand himself why he stopped her.

"Do not tell anyone else," he warned. "They will not understand. Humans are quick to judge without a second thought. Whatever it is that gives you this power, keep it hidden in your heart and mind."

"But not from you," she countered. " _You_  won't judge." Solas hesitated, not sure of what to say in response. He wanted to assure her that she could put her faith in him, but he knew that doing so wouldn't be right. She was so much like a newborn spirit – innocent and untainted, beautiful in her purity. He feared for her – feared to see her corrupted. That is what trust did. It corrupted everything it touched.

"Do not open your heart to me,  _da'len_ ," he warned. "Do not make that mistake with anyone."

"You have," she said. "Before." Solas flinched away from her as though she'd burned him. Did she know? Impossible. No one could know. Reigning in his panic, he closed himself off from her and backed away.

"Come. It's late, and this conversation has a taken a turn I do not wish to follow."

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_The moment Arianwen opened her eyes, she knew that she was in a dream._

_In the Fade._

_She shivered, marveling at the many sensations that assailed her at once. This place felt too real._

_Darkness permeated this area like a sickness, shadows seeming to come alive as they brushed against the walls and ceiling. Something was wrong. The Veil felt thin - almost like it would snap at any moment. _Water dripped from above, the droplets landing on her skin. So cold! She pressed herself against the wall to avoid them, finally taking note of the structure of her surroundings._ Round and round, stairs spiraled in two directions: upwards into the unknown and downwards into the abyss. As Arianwen walked down the narrow path and stepped down endless flights of stairs, she heard her breathing echo off the stone walls. A foul odor pervaded the air - the vile stench of blood, raw flesh, and terror._

_Was this truly the Fade? Solas had said that all dreams took mortal spirits here. So why was it so sinister? So full of evil? Were dreams not meant to show what one desired most? What was this, then? In response, a word floated to the surface of her consciousness: **nightmare**. A terrible word - fraught with danger and pain. Arianwen wanted nothing to do with it, but it seemed that she had no choice but to stay here for the time being. She tried to recognize her surroundings, but memory failed her as it had since the moment she'd first awakened. Though these walls spoke of a familiar suffering - a nostalgic pain - she could not identify their origin. Even the stone felt familiar beneath her fingertips: cold, wet, and thrumming with magic. Perhaps if she kept moving, she could leave. But, no matter how far she walked, she saw no end to the stairs or the path before her._

_A tower - she realized._

_A prison._

_Built to house something...else. Something other than what currently resided here._

_And something certainly **did**  reside here. An invisible predator. It prowled the shadows on silent feet - watched her progress with ravenous eyes. It followed each step that she took closer than her own reflection in a mirror and breathed down her neck with a hot and acrid breath. A hunt. A chase. A game. She was the hunted - the helpless prey. The moment she understood this, she felt the game begin. As though awareness granted the shadows permission, they rushed after her. The farther she descended, the faster the shadows moved, swallowing all of the floors above and leaving only one route of escape. Down. Farther and farther into the abyss. Arianwen ran, feeling like a deer being herded into a trap. In the void beneath her feet, she heard voices crying out for help. Men, women, humans, elves. One voice stood out in particular - a man who chanted words that sounded like a prayer. Over and over again._

**_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter..._ **

_Who was it? The tone was painfully familiar though the words were not. Echoing, reverberating, pulsing - rays of sunlight in a place devoid entirely of hope. She ran towards that voice, knowing she would find shelter in its strength and hoping that the shadows wouldn't follow. Again and again, it spoke the syllables. The words bounced off the stone, ringing and flowing through her very core. She heard their owner's pain - so many emotions: regret, anguish, self-loathing, humiliation. What were the demons doing to him? In her mind, she could almost picture it - his bright light blinding against their rotting home in the abyss._

**_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just..._ **

_Cracks appeared in the stone where she stepped, rending through the rock like blades through parchment. As though sensing that she would escape, the shadows hissed and howled. They reached for her with gnarled fingers and wrinkled arms, each seeking its own purpose. Envy wanted to become her. Desire wanted to trap her in yearning. Rage wanted to feed from her wrath. Despair wanted to watch as she writhed in agony. Pride needed to see her humbled. And the Shades - greater and lesser both - would haunt her until she became nothing but ashes. In all of their diversity, they all wanted the same thing: to consume her, body and soul. Her mind rebelled against the prospect - desperate as a dying creature gasping for its last breath._

**_I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm...I shall endure..._ **

_Arianwen screamed when she felt the shadows catching up to her. The creature's claws caught at her armor, the sharp talons gaining purchase between the chain and metal scales on her back. She drew a set of shortswords carved into the shape of griffon talons and slashed behind her, the blades singing as they sliced through air. The man's voice was getting farther and farther away, its promise of safety fleeing as surely as a startled dove. Then all was lost. She missed a step and tumbled down. With each roll, she felt bones break. Arm, elbow, shoulder, legs, knees...broken and shattered beyond repair. When she finally stopped falling, blood trickled down her chin. The shadows loomed closer, whispering wicked promises of a tomorrow she knew that she would never live to see. Promises as vile and black as the blood within her veins. Tainted blood as black as..._

**_What you have created, no one can tear asunder..._ **

_One last time, she heard his voice. He sounded faint, as though he, too, was broken beyond all repair. Not just his body, but his soul. That such purity should be defiled by all this darkness - the thought was revolting and impossible to stomach. It didn't matter who he was. She had to stop it. It was her duty - her eternal and inescapable fate. In death - sacrifice. Arianwen opened her mouth and shouted with all her might to whatever heavens might be listening. Her voice - still so new to her own ears - gave her a boost of courage. Broken or not, she would fight until her last heart beat. Her battlecry was a vow to find the innocent in this wretched place and end his suffering, a vow to find shelter in his words, and a promise of her own. One that would survive the ages. One that may finally help her find peace. The demons above finally caught up to her. They took their time - watching, hovering, tugging at her soul. Any moment now, they would sink their fangs into her flesh, would devour her. Perhaps, she might even deserve it. But come what may, she would never go down without a fight._

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Cullen struggled to stifle a hoarse shout as he shot up in his bed. Flinging the coverlet away from him, he covered his mouth, bit his lip, and tasted blood. As though seeking out an enemy, his eyes surveyed the room. Only when they came upon no danger did he slump back against the headboard. His shoulders fell, his back curved - he looked at least twenty years older than he was. Sometimes, he wondered if it wasn't so, if he wasn't just a broken old man trapped in the body of a young warrior. He shivered as a breeze from the open window beside him let in the morning wind. Skin covered in goosebumps, he raked a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The images from his dream flashed through his mind, blinding him to all else except the horror he'd just witnessed. He could swear that he could still hear the demons' claws tearing through skin and bone - that he could hear the echoing of their teeth grinding through muscle and sinew.

Through all the gore, he saw a warrior. Fighting, slashing, hacking at the demons. He wanted so much to help - to fight by her side. But all he could do was cower and pray. As if prayer could help anything. As if the Maker would save him. He watched the warrior wade through blood and countless bodies to lash out against his enemy, gritted his teeth when he saw how the demons tore her skin asunder. Yet even wounded, even bleeding, even  _dying_ , she fought on. The Grey Warden armor she wore flashed like lightning, her swords moving so fast that he could barely keep up. What drove her? He wanted to know -  _needed_  to know. Although she was just a ghost in a nightmare, he envied her drive, her sense of purpose.

But, then the headache came and he could think of little else but the agony of it. Rolling from the bed, he crawled to his bedside table, shaking fingers seeking and searching for a particular box. Through a haze of pounding torment, he found it and breathed a sigh of frustration. Just seeing the Lyrium made him want to vomit. Cassandra had procured some for him against his wishes. It had been nearly three weeks since he'd taken it last. She knew, perhaps more than most, how much he suffered without it. Yet the realization of how dependent he was on it gave him pause - enough to fight the headache, enough to block out the dreams. Enough to realize that he was a slave. Not a revelation - just a reminder. He pushed the box away, daring to recall what had been running through his thoughts since the day that he decided to be a part of the Inquisition. He would cut all ties with the Order. If push came to shove, that meant parting with Lyrium as well. Cassandra would not approve. Nor would his headaches.

_Take it. Just a little. Just to soothe the pain._

He looked at the box, felt the raw need to open it.

_Just to take the edge off._

Cullen reached for the lid and pushed it upwards, revealing a glittering vial within.

 _A Commander must be at his best to direct his troops -_ his desire coaxed. _What harm is there in taking just a sip? Tomorrow, it will be easier._

As he resisted the call, the horror of his nightmares returned. He saw the blood running through the stone, saw the corpses of his friends move, twitch, and jerk as they became abominations, and felt the terror of the demons trying to break his mind. The demon called Desire laughed at his resistance, her voice sultry and her naked breasts gleaming in the blood-red moonlight. She cupped his face, raked her claws against his cheekbones, and kissed him. Then her features twisted. She became someone else - a girl that had caught his attention in the tower. Her tawny eyes burned with lust as she raked her hands down his armor, whispering about all the things she'd been yearning to do to him. He prayed, then, with a desperation that he'd never thought to feel or show again. Not since the Maker had failed him at the tower. Not since the atrocities of Kirkwall. Especially not since the Conclave. But, for now, it was enough to drive the figment of his memories back. At least, for a while. Until she found new ways to make him wish he'd never been born.

_Take it. You do not deserve to see this. You do not need to remember it. Take it..._

The longer he resisted the Lyrium's song, the more vivid the visions became. Somehow, he endured. He always did. Whatever creator had decided to weave his thread of fate and misfortune had decided - perhaps out of cruelty - to give him enough strength to persevere. Soon, the mage girl was gone. As was the demon. They were both replaced by a new face - one with golden eyes and slitted pupils. A girl stood before him with intricate markings on her forehead and hair that shimmered with a violet hue. He knew her name now. It was as beautiful as she was. Arianwen. The Herald of Andraste. Or perhaps the Herald of the tragedy at the Conclave. Her pouting lips were curved down in a frown. Her eyes were soft with sympathy. She tried to reach for him, but he swatted away her hand. He thought he might have shouted something at her - some sort of curse or perhaps an insult.  _Get away, monster! I do not need your pity!_  Something like that. Whatever it was, he knew it must have been hurtful. She knelt down before him and whispered something in return. Though he tried, he could only hear a few words.

_Caged...will come...sacrifice..._

Her airy voice filled the room, tugging him back to reality. Cullen opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. His sanity returned too slowly. In the aftermath of the battle with his memories and hallucinations, he was left shattered and capable of little but taking things one breath at a time. In and out. Focus. Regain control. In and out. Calming. Soothing. None of that was real. Well, perhaps some of it could have been. The warrior in his dream - the way her armor glittered in the night. The way she reached up and defied her fate. He wished he had that sort of strength. He wished that he could partake of some of it from her. Too bad she was just a specter in his thoughts - and he, just a shadow of her might. Would he ever be more?  _Could_  he ever be more? As Commander of the Inquisition, he had to be. Troops needed to be trained at lightning speed, hundreds of tasks awaited his attention, and someone was trying to sabotage it all by killing the Inquisition's symbol - the chosen of Andraste. He glanced through the window. The sun was rising.

_With Lyrium, you could be more than just a shadow. You could take the Inquisition so much farther. Take it...take it...it's the only right thing to do..._

His eyes bloodshot and his skin slick with sweat, Cullen reached for the box.

* * *

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Varric Tethras started when he heard a crashing sound in the Commander's room. Someone had tossed a bottle to the ground - maybe a table, too. He'd been a part of too many tavern brawls not to recognize the sound of breaking glass and wood. On edge, he listened for a moment more, but heard nothing else. Thinking that it might be an accident, he turned his attention back to the letter in front of him. The handwriting was messy, a sign that the sender had been in a hurry while writing. That wasn't what really troubled him, however. He re-read the letter again and rubbed his temple, feeling a tension headache coming on.

 _V -_ the letter began.

_I don't know what you said to her in your last letter, but I swear to you - if you are responsible for her disappearance, I will track you down and you will be the first to pay. When this first started, I warned you not to contact her. You know better than anyone how many enemies she has. We've been running since that day in Kirkwall. Running. Like animals being hunted. I never thought that I would have to feel like this again. The trouble didn't start until much later. Several weeks ago, she started having nightmares, muttering something about her brother and the Calling. She's been afraid for his life. Now, she's gone. Disappeared without a trace. There is one place I can think she would go, but if she isn't there..._

_I'm coming for you and you better be prepared for it._

_-F._

The letter protested as he crumpled it up and tossed it into the fire across the room. He watched the paper burn, wishing that the frightening implications in it would burn up as well. He was a realist, however, and no matter how many stories of flight and fancy he spun on a daily basis, he knew that a problem this big wouldn't just fade away. It didn't matter how Fenris had tracked him down to Haven, and it didn't matter that he knew that Hawke had been writing to him. Those facts seemed petty in comparison to the fact that his best friend might now be missing. Fenris was on his way. Varric knew he would show up here full of righteous fury to give him the reckoning of his life.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Hawke hadn't said anything about going anywhere in her last missive. He'd been relying on outside sources to exchange messages. Leliana's network couldn't be trusted. Perhaps something had happened to his man in the wild. Could someone have intercepted their exchange? Found him out? Impossible. He knew his men, and their lips were sealed tighter than a Nug's ass in winter. He allowed himself only a small amount of time to worry. Concern would only get him so far so fast. Right now, he needed to act, and he couldn't do that while wallowing in fear and useless theories. He needed a plan of action.

Another crash from the Commander's room. Varric raised a brow in curiosity, his hand already reaching for his trusted Bianca. He was somewhat alarmed, thinking that he should check on the ex-Templar and make sure that all was well. Getting up from his comfortable perch on an enormous armchair in front of a fireplace wasn't really what he wanted to do, but - he shrugged - it was better than lazying away while someone had their way with one of the few sane humans in Haven. He chuckled at the mental image and stepped towards the Commander's door, stopping there to knock politely.

"Hey...everything alright in there, Curly?" A beat. Then -

"Yes, Varric. Everything is fine," Cullen replied. His voice sounded strained, almost like he'd been shouting for a while.

"You gotta give me more than that or I'm coming in there with Bianca."

"W-What?" The Commander sounded genuinely surprised. At this point, Varric was sure that the man had simply tripped over himself while trying to don his trousers. It wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be unjustified. The man worked too hard and slept too little. Anyone with that much work ethic had to suffer out of the spotlight. He pitied him, but that didn't mean he wouldn't tease him. "That won't be necessary," Cullen added.

"I don't know. How can I be sure you don't have someone in there holding a knife to your gullet?" Varric asked and smirked when he heard the man curse.

"Give me a moment." The sounds of shuffling and banging. Varric smiled, imaging the proud and noble Cullen jumping around trying to get dressed at lightning speed. Maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to imagine about the earnest Commander, but shit - a dwarf had to entertain himself somehow, especially if he hoped to take his mind off Fenris's furious letter. After a few more minutes of waiting, the doorknob twisted and the Commander peered out of the doorway. Varric planted his hands on his hips and took a step back. Cullen frowned and stepped the rest of the way out. His shirt was on crooked and his pants weren't tied up all the way. Varric snickered.

"There is nothing humorous about this," Cullen grumbled.

"If you knew I was messing with you, why'd you fall for it?"

"I didn't know. Not until I saw your face," Cullen frowned, adjusting his clothing. He then looked past the dwarf to the fireplace. Varric followed his gaze to a nearby couch, where Arianwen had fallen asleep reading a book. "Has she been here all night?" he asked. The dwarf scratched his head, wondering how he'd managed to forget she was there. Maybe he was losing his touch - either that, or his focus. Or maybe he should have slept through the night instead of spending it poring over books and missives.

"Yeah. Just fell asleep a few hours back." As though she felt their eyes on her, the girl mumbled something and turned onto her side, curling her knees against her chest. For what felt like the hundredth time, Varric wondered how old she was. It was hard to tell with elves. They all looked like children to him - at least, most of them did. If he had to take a stab at it, he'd guess that she couldn't be older than seventeen. The other one - Solas - looked much older.

"Wasn't it Solas's turn to watch her tonight?" Cullen wondered.

"Maybe. I dunno. She came here around midnight looking pretty lost. Said that Solas had something to do."

"He should have at least escorted her to a proper bed. Wait..is that...?" Cullen squinted, "...did you let her read - ?"

"Don't look at me like that," Varric cut in when he saw Cullen's disapproval. He threw his hands in the air. "I'm not a babysitter, alright? Girl said she wanted something to do, so I gave her a book to read."

" _That_  book?"

"She might look like a kid, but she's not. She can read whatever she wants. Besides, I don't think she really understood most of it." That wasn't the entire truth. Maybe he should have mentioned the sadness he saw in her eyes or the way she spent countless hours staring at the wall, but something told him to keep his mouth shut about those particular details.

"Maker's breath, Varric," Cullen swore.

"Look, it's been nearly a week since we found out someone was trying to kill her. Since then, she hasn't had a moment to herself. You won't let her go anywhere unsupervised. She's been exhausting herself with training. Not only that, but you're sending her away."

"I am  _not_ ," Cullen countered then motioned for the dwarf to follow him into his room. When they were behind the door, the Commander scowled. He spoke in a near whisper now, clearly concerned about waking the girl. "Leliana, Cassandra, and I need some things taken care of in the Hinterlands. Dennet won't speak to us, but there's a chance he'll listen if he sees her. We decided it would be best for her to spend some time away from Haven while we sort out -?"

"Exactly, Curly.  _You_  decided. From the moment she fell out of the sky, that's all you three have been doing. Have you considered that she has feelings, too?"

"Of course I – that is  _we_  - have," the Commander replied, looking offended. "She will be safer with Cassandra and Solas in the Hinterlands than she will be here in Haven for now." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Not to mention, she's already agreed to go. She heard about the rifts there, and she _wants_  to help."

"You sound like you approve, Commander," Varric drawled.

"I do. It's noble of her to think this way," his voice lowered, "courageous, even."

"For a mass murderer and a heretic, you mean." When Cullen didn't answer, Varric looked up at him. The anger on the Commander's face surprised him. "Am I wrong? Or have you all suddenly decided that she isn't guilty?"

"There's nothing sudden about it. Solas has posed plenty of evidence that suggests – "

"But what do  _you_  think?"

"I…" he let out a pent up breath, "…I never really thought she was responsible. Whatever happened at the Conclave, I feel she's just another victim in it all." Cullen's head suddenly snapped up. Varric turned around to see that Arianwen had silently approached the doorway. How hadn't he heard her footsteps? Damn. He must be losing his touch after all.

"I'll go," she stated. "To the Hinterlands, I mean. You don't have to think that you are sending me away." She spoke to Cullen, her eyes full of a strength that Varric swore he'd only ever seen in Hawke. "Perhaps I'll be able to remember something, though I don't approve of you calling me the Herald."

"We talked about this," Cullen protested. "I understand how you feel about it, but please reconsider." She pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest.

"You want me to lie."

"We want you to be a symbol of hope," Cullen argued. Varric watched her mull this over. She rubbed her marked hand.

"I don't even know if this symbol will awaken anymore," she protested. "Without it, I'm just…me."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," Cullen reassured her. "For now, please just do this for us…for the people who are a part of the Inquisition." Varric snorted.

"For a bunch of crazies and desperates, you mean." The Commander glared at him again, displeased with his attitude. Varric just shrugged. If no one was going to say it, he would.

"Please," Cullen addressed Arianwen again. The girl looked like she would waver. Her eyes narrowed, filling with sadness.

"I'm sorry, but I can't lie. You want me to, and you worry for your soldiers. You worry you can't lead them without the Herald. I know I should but I…" She bit her bottom lip. "I can't." Cullen's face fell; he looked disgruntled first, then frustrated. Varric thought he might have to step in and defend the girl's choice. After all, he couldn't help but sympathize with what she said. Lying to a bunch of people who already seemed kind of unbalanced seemed like a pretty big mistake. Whether she was actually chosen by Andraste or not didn't really matter. People would swallow all sorts of garbage when they were in dire straights. What that garbage would make them do - well, he didn't want to have to see this girl pay the price. However, before any intervention was necessary, the Commander's expression softened and he smiled.

"It's alright," he sighed. "We'll figure something out."

"Thank you," she smiled, looking so relieved that Varric thought she might melt. Wouldn't that be an interesting sight? "When do we leave, Commander?" she asked.

"We will spend tomorrow on preparations. Cassandra and Leliana will show you some maps of the area, and we'll work on getting some supplies together. The Hinterlands aren't far, but the ride will still be long. Once you're there, you can find more supplies at a place called the Crossroads." Arianwen nodded.

"Solas says he knows that area," she mentioned with confidence.

"Good." Cullen glanced out the window. Varric noticed that the sun had fully risen. "I have some matters to attend to, but I'm sure Varric will be able to take you to the war room."

"Sure thing. That is, if you don't mind the company," Varric winked. Arianwen's smile widened.

"Of course not! The book you gave me was delightful, though I have to say that some things were…confusing."

"Oh?" Varric pressed, suddenly excited at the prospect of hearing her opinion.

"I don't think we should discuss this," Cullen grumbled.

"Well, I was confused about why the Knight Commander was so upset about going to that man's chamber in the middle of the night. Surely it doesn't matter if someone saw her."

"How far did you read after that part?" Varric asked with a smirk.

"Not far, but that part confused me as well. They were pressing their lips together and touching each other, but – "

"Maker's breath," Cullen swore, covering his eyes with his gloved hand. "This conversation ends  _now_. Varric, please go to the barracks and inform Rylen that I'll be running late. I'll take her to the war room myself." He  _oomphed_  when the dwarf elbowed him in the side.

"Don't trust me with her, Commander?"

"With her safety, perhaps. But not with her sensibilities," Cullen replied with a glare.

 _If looks could kill_  - Varric thought with much amusement-  _I'd be at the bottom of the Temple of Sacred Ashes right now._


	6. The Artifact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you once again for all the faves and reviews! I'm always incredibly happy to hear from you guys, especially because I am SO excited about this story. I have to apologize for any typos or missing text. It seems that FFnet sometimes cuts off little bits here or there for no apparent reason. I will try to fix this as soon as I find it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next installment :)

 

  
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From the first moment that Cullen stepped outside, he knew something was wrong. People were crowded around the Chantry building, and he could hear various voices shouting. Tense and on edge, he gestured for Arianwen to follow him. As she hurried to keep up with his longer stride, he strove to identify the cause for the disturbance. From what he could immediately tell, a few Mages were arguing with a couple of Templars. Haven had been experiencing an influx of people from both sides. Supposedly, they wanted peace and were sick of the fighting between their two factions. It was only because of this claim that Cassandra had even considered allowing them into the village. He and Leliana had suspected that there would be tension as a result. They just hadn't seen it first hand until now. A crease marred Cullen's brow.

"Stay here," he told Arianwen, leaving her by the side of one of the cottages. He didn't want her involved in whatever this was, especially since the situation seemed to be escalating. One of the Templars had his sword out and a few Mages were raising their staves. They were bickering back and forth, their voices progressively rising in volume with their accusations. He couldn't hear the details, nor did he care to. The cause of their argument mattered little. Timing was everything. This was the worst possible period for a squabble like this to occur. With the other pilgrims and recruits already thrown into doubt and confusion about the Herald, this would just add fuel to the proverbial fire. For now, the other villagers didn't join in or take sides, but it wouldn't be long before someone tipped the scales. Cullen tried to listen to what was being said now, hoping that he could find a way to resolve this peacefully before a full blown riot broke out.

"All we've ever wanted was an equal chance!" one of the Mages clamored.

"You  _had_  your chance, and what's the first thing you do with it?" a Templar responded. "You kill the Divine!"

"How  _dare_  you?" another Mage - a young human girl - snarled. " _You_  are the ones who let her die! Where were you when the Conclave was destroyed? No doubt parading in your fancy armor and gorging on Lyrium!" The frontmost Templar's face reddened. He bared his teeth and adjusted the grip on his blade. Cullen recognized his stance and swore under his breath. Any moment now, the man's control would snap and he would attack. The Commander hesitated to charge into the fray, his only concern that any kind of intervention would only worsen the situation. Still, he no longer had the luxury of planning. The charge in the air was palpable. All the Mages needed to do was summon some fire and ice and the village would take heavy damage. There could be innocent casualties, and he doubted that the Inquisition could recover if such a mess broke out right in the middle of their base of operations. No one would ever place their faith in them again.

"Commander," a voice beside him caught his attention. He turned to see Rylen - his second - standing next to him. There was a good reason he held that title. Rylen had served at his side throughout the events at Kirkwall. When he found out that Cullen was leaving the Order, he hadn't hesitated to follow him. Cullen couldn't think of a better man to be his second. He was reliable and trustworthy - responsible and pragmatic. "They've been at it for a while now. If someone gets killed..."

"I know," Cullen sighed. "Watch the crowd, will you?"

"Of course, Commander." With that, Cullen rushed forward. Good timing, for just as he did so, the Templars all unsheathed their blades and prepared to attack. He pushed and shoved people out of his way, raising his voice like he would have on the battlefield.

"Cease this foolishness!" he decreed. The ring of Templars immediately halted; the leader's face lost some color. The Mages immediately backed down, but their eyes watched the Templars with caution.

"Knight Commander," the Templar leader mumbled, casting his eyes down.

"That is  _not_  my title," Cullen growled. "And you are no longer Templars bound by the Order's foolishness." He whirled on the Mages. "You are here as part of the Inquisition. We are all on the same side now. Bickering like old women isn't worthy of our cause." He flailed a finger at the sky. "Look there!  _That_  is our enemy. We cannot afford to feud amongst ourselves. Can't you see it makes us weaker?"

"You are already weak," a voice challenged from within the crowd. People murmured and shifted aside to reveal a short, stocky man dressed in Cleric's robes. Cullen's temper flared. He knew exactly who this was, and his appearance did not bode well for any sort of peaceful resolution.

"Chancellor Roderick," he sneered, not bothering to hide his displeasure. A pair of armed guards stood next to him. Templars? He didn't recognize their uniforms. A sinking dread took root in his abdomen. This was going to escalate...

"Commander Cullen," the man leered in response. "You've fallen very far from grace, haven't you? Once, you were a good man. Faithful to the Maker and the Chantry. Just look at what you've become."

"And what would that be?"

"A heretic!" the Chancelor lashed out without warning. "You sit here with this so called Inquisition and blaspheme against the Maker, Andraste, and the Chantry." He snapped his fingers. Cullen started when he heard a commotion from the vicinity of one of the cottages. His heart skipped a beat in panic. Arianwen. That's where he'd left her. Alarmed now, he tensed when he saw another pair of guards drag her out from her hiding place. She tried to pry them off of her, her eyes huge in her small face. When that failed, she looked to him. Cullen thought that that look might as well be acid. He had to use all of his self control to stop himself from going to her.

_This can't escalate..._

"And this girl," Roderick continued, "is an even worse poison."

"Let her go," Cullen warned, his tone as sharp as the edge of a knife. He guaged the gazes of the crowd, tried to measure their reaction. None of the Inquisition's leaders had truly addressed what Arianwen had confessed to some days ago. Though the villagers' worship of her had died down, there were still those that believed she was the Herald. Would they do nothing? Or would they retaliate? Cullen was distracted when he saw Arianwen dig her heels into the ground to try and resist the guards again. Ignoring this, the two men shoved her forward until she stumbled and fell. Her small cry of pain nearly made him snap and do something foolish. Though he wanted nothing more than to retaliate, he  _had_  to wait. Any rash action at this point could irreversibly make the situation worse. Inwardly, Cullen raged, feeling sweat building at the neckline of his armor.

"This knife-eared  _savage_  is a heretic! An abomination! A criminal!" Roderick bellowed. "The Herald of Andraste? Don't be fooled! The Inquisition is nothing but a bunch of upstarts seeking to unbalance the Chantry - the only rightful center of the true faith!" Maker help him, but he so wanted to punch this man and break his nose. The dark impulse shocked him, for his past self would never have considered retaliating against a Cleric - a man that was, by many standards, considered to be untouchable. "I came here today to deliver  _this_ ," Roderick held up a sheet of parchment. Cullen recognized the signatures on the page. So this was it. The Chantry was making its first official move against them. Unsurprising, but earlier than expected. It seemed that the Clerics could work quickly under pressure and motivation. "This is a writ composed by those who remain faithful to the Maker, by those who would restore order and choose a new Divine to lead us in this trying time."

"That's enough, Chancelor," Cullen growled. "That document has no power here."

"I think you'll find that it does," the man replied, puffing out his chest.

"No, it does not!" The doors to the Chantry burst open. From within stepped Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine. The Seeker's eyes were full of hellfire and promised retribution, a look that clearly terrified Roderick. The moment he saw her, he backstepped, his posture broken. Cullen really couldn't blame him. On her best days, Cassandra could be incredibly intimidating. On her worst, she was a force to be reckoned with.

"Chain that  _savage_ ," Roderick commanded his guards, pointing to Arianwen. His voice trembled, but his pride wouldn't allow him to back down. "You have no authority here, Seeker. I've come for the false prophet. She will be taken to Val Royeaux for immediate execution." Cullen had been desperately avoiding Arianwen's gaze until now, knowing that if he saw her distress one more time, he would do something potentially stupid. Unfortunately, the moment that the guards seized her, he couldn't ignore her any longer. As one of the bulky men dragged her upwards from the ground and tore the shoulder seam of her sleeve, he felt his control snap. He remembered how her arm felt in his grip, recalled how she felt as fragile as a bird. The way that the guard squeezed her arm would surely leave bruises. "I said chain her!" the Chancellor demanded. The guard reached into the satchel on his back, no doubt preparing to pull out a set of cuffs. He never got the chance.

Cullen was on him before he could blink. All it took was four strides and he was there, knocking the man down with a well placed kick. The other guard tried to retaliate, but Cullen was faster. Drawing his blade, he mashed the hilt into the man's neck. As he gagged and choked, Cullen elbowed him in the chest, sending him crashing to the dirt. Roderick's personal guards flew at him, their swords bared and their eyes full of fire. He deflected the first blow easily and used the soldier's momentum to flip him on his back. In the same smooth motion, he slashed backwards in an arc and disarmed the other guard. While the man tried to register what just happened, Cullen's fist rammed into his jaw from below. The soldier shrieked as he bit his tongue and dropped to join his companion. He writhed in the dust, spitting blood.

"I suggest you back off, Chancelor," Cassandra warned, folding her arms over her chest. She and Cullen exchanged looks, a silent consensus. "No one is taking the girl anywhere." Cullen was relieved. He'd told Varric that they no longer believed Arianwen was guilty of what happened at the Conclave, but in truth he hadn't been certain of Cassandra's views on the matter until just now. She had always been more stubborn than a gargoyle when it came to such things.

"Who are  _you_  to speak to me like that?" Roderick hissed. "The Seekers serve the Chantry, as do the Templars." He moved in Arianwen's direction, but changed his mind when Cullen stepped in front of her. Without looking back, the Commander extended his hand behind him. In a moment, he felt small fingers wrap around his armored forearm and a brief tug as the girl regained her footing. In a whisper, he heard her say:

"Thank you..."

The crowd watched on in silence, reminding Cullen of a murder of crows hovering over a battlefield, waiting for their chance to peck at the dead. Fickle fools. They had been so ready to place this girl on a pedestal and lick the ground she walked on. All it took was a few words of honesty and they were ready to throw her to the wolves. And she'd done it for  _their_  sakes! The insanity of it made him sick.

"Have all of you lost your senses?" the Chancellor scowled. "She is a murderer!"

"There are many suspects that the Inquisition is currently examining," Leliana said, walking to stand next to Cullen. As she did so, she made sure to avoid the four bodies on the ground. "This is girl isn't one of them. However..." she looked the Chancellor up and down, implying much without saying anything at all.

"You wouldn't  _have the gall_ accuse me," he warned.

"And why not?"

"I...because..." Roderick sputtered. "How  _dare_ you? I am - "

"A glorified clerk," Cassandra drawled, and she and Josephine joined Cullen and Leliana to stand in front Arianwen. "A random Cleric with so little influence that he wasn't even invited to the Conclave."

"And if I  _had_  been?" he challenged. "I would be  _dead_ , just like the Divine." He pointed to Arianwen. "Because of  _her_! Because of that...that... _demon_!" A few people in the crowd gasped. Murmuring followed suit. Cullen couldn't make out what they were saying, but he had a feeling it wasn't anything good. People looked at each other, the light of doubt filled their eyes and reshaped their expressions from ones of confusion and sympathy to fear and trepidation. He felt Arianwen press herself close to his side.

A restlessness distracted him; the sensation that something was amiss. His thoughts strayed, noting their location and how open everything was. They still didn't know who was responsible for the attempts on the girl's life, but if that person was still around, this would be a good place to try again. There were plenty of covered rooftops and vantage points. Everyone was distracted by Roderick's speeches and the commotion he caused. No one would notice a creeping assassin. He found himself scanning the crowd for a familiar face and weathered staff. Where was Solas? They could have really used his protective barrier right now. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but as a soldier, Cullen had learned to trust his gut instinct implicitly. Right now, that instinct was practically screaming: danger!

Cassandra and Leliana continued to talk down the Chancellor. Josephine joined in where she could. Perhaps they knew as well as he did that the crowd would only be mollified if they appeared to be a voice of reason in the face of Roderick's bold accusations. He knew for certain that though the soldiers in Haven were loyal to the Inquisition, the organization was still a fledgling unit. Those who made up the bulk of it were just confused and floundering pilgrims, farmers, and refugees who felt abandoned by the Templars and the Chantry. Should the Clerics start to change their attitudes and pretend to cater to the masses, Cullen feared they would flock back to them like timid sheep. That possibility was especially worrisome when taken in context of the fact that Arianwen denied her given title of Herald at every turn. Though he admired her determination and her honesty, he feared it may be her undoing – and the Inquisition's.

"I will not stand for this!" the Chancellor shouted, his voice hoarse now. "Mark my words. I will go to Val Royeaux. I will speak to the other Clerics, and we will return with a battalion of Templars and soldiers to shut you down. Order will be restored by the Chantry, not some upstarts and their demon pets."

"The Templars aren't part of the Chantry anymore," Cassandra declared. "Neither are the Seekers."

"They will return. Their faith will compel them to!"

"No, they will not," she maintained. "Right now, the only stability they will find is through joining the Inquisition. At the very least until a new Divine is appointed."

"Why do you think they left the Chantry in the first place?" Leliana asked. "They don't want to be leashed anymore. They seek independence, and only  _we_  can give them that." Apparently, the Chancellor was done talking. Either that, or he couldn't find any more insults to throw their way. Whatever the case, he made a noise of disgust, straightened his shoulders, and turned on his heel. His mount stood a short distance away. As he walked to it, Cassandra leaned back and lowered her voice so that only he could hear her:

"He will return, no doubt with reinforcements." As soon as the Chancellor turned his horse about and rode away, the crowd that had gathered around the Chantry began to disperse. Not without complaint, however. Cullen heard a few people muttering, doubt thick in their voices. The Templars and Mages that had been arguing before stared each other down for several minutes before backing away. One by one, the villagers returned to their homes, camps, and workstations. At the very least, they'd managed to avoid a crisis. For now. Who knew what would happen if the situation with the Chantry wasn't resolved?

"They can't touch us here," Leliana whispered. "Not to mention, they have no soldiers anymore. The Templars are scattered."

"We must make an effort to convince them to join us," Josephine agreed. "However, I believe it is vital that we make an appearance in Val Royeaux as soon as possible. If the Chancellor wasn't bluffing, the Clerics will be gathering there. It is a perfect opportunity for us." Cullen was about to agree when Varric's earlier words echoed in his thoughts:

_Have you considered that she has feelings, too?_

He glanced at Arianwen. She was already looking at him, her eyes hard and serious. He recognized that look. It was the same one she always wore when they relayed their decisions to her. So far, they'd all taken it for granted that she never refused anything they asked. But, how did she feel about it all? He wanted to ask, but that restless feeling still nagged at him. He examined the courtyard again, especially the rooftops. Everything seemed to be in order. So why was his gut telling him otherwise?

"If you need me to go to the city and speak with the Clerics, I will go," Arianwen declared. Cullen sighed with exasperation. The girl really had no sense of self-preservation, it seemed. Either that, or something else was driving her that he had yet to understand.

"It is a risk," Josephine lamented. "But, it's something we need to do."

"We can't force you to go," Cassandra admitted. "We can't promise that you won't be in danger. However," she reached out and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. "I can promise that I will do all I can to protect you." A smile broke out on Arianwen's face, so bright and genuine that Cullen couldn't help but smile back. It seemed that not even Cassandra was immune. The corner of her lip twitched.

"Thank you," Arianwen murmured. "If there's anything I can do to help, I will."

"You are very eager," Leliana observed.

"You saved my life," the girl reasoned, looking Cullen in the eyes and squeezing his arm. She then turned to Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine. "You cared for my injuries, and you've sheltered me despite the fact that I don't remember anything and can't assist in your investigation on the Breach. I've been called a demon and a monster, yet you defend me. You have so much to think of, yet you consider my safety. And you want to trust me with important tasks for the Inquisition despite my lack of…everything. This mark," she raised her hand, "is the only thing that can help you in return. I am nothing without it. Yet even this isn't working as it should. I want to do what I can. Even if it isn't much, I want to return all the kindness you've shown me." Cullen was moved by her words. He wasn't the only one. His friends' expressions suggested that they, too, weren't expecting such heartfelt gratitude.

"You aren't nothing," Cassandra said, her gaze intense. "If there were more people like you, perhaps this war would never have happened." Cullen's smile widened. That was high praise coming from the jaded Lady Seeker.

"Let us go inside," Josephine suggested. "We should think about how we will take the Herald to the city."

"Arianwen," the elf cut in. "Please, don't call me the Herald. Just call me Arianwen. I am not a great Commander or a well-respected Seeker. Nor am I a powerful Spymaster or clever Ambassador. I'm just me. So, please…" The four of them nodded in unison. Cassandra finally lost her battle with her stoic demeanor and smiled.

"Cullen," Leliana called out. "We'll go to the war room and begin preparations. Do you mind visiting the rookery? There's a message there for you." Something about the way she said that seemed off, as though the statement itself was code for an altogether different meaning. Her eyes flashed steel, and Cullen could do nothing but agree with a wordless gesture. "And you, Arianwen?"

"You want me to go with him?" the girl asked as though reading Leliana's mind. Her intuition baffled Cullen sometimes, but it seemed to be a part of her strange and unusual nature so he didn't question it too much. There was much about magic that he didn't understand, after all, and Solas had mentioned more than once that the mark may have affected the girl's powers. He looked around the courtyard again. Where  _was_  Solas? He hadn't seen him all morning, and Varric had mentioned that he'd abandoned Arianwen late the night before. It seemed highly out of character.

"Yes, you should go with him," Leliana replied with a smile that didn't feel genuine.

"Alright. I like the birds," Arianwen said in that childish way that he admired. In some aspects, she reminded him of his siblings. He hadn't seen his family in years, but he'd never forgotten what it was like to be an older brother. Perhaps that was why he felt so compelled to protect her.

"Where is Solas?" Cassandra asked without preamble. Apparently, the Mage's absence was bothering her as well.

"He said he had something important to do," Arianwen revealed. "Though he mentioned he would be back later today."

"Back? From where?" Arianwen shrugged.

"He didn't say."

"Odd," Cassandra frowned.

"He hasn't left us," Arianwen said. "You're worried that he will abandon the Inquisition, but he won't. He wants to close the Breach, too." Cullen watched Cassandra's face carefully, waiting for her to display the same unease she always did when the girl made such insightful observations into people's natures and motives. However, she merely let out a strained breath and shook her head.

"One day, you're going to have to explain how you know so much about what we're all thinking." Arianwen's cheeks turned a pretty pink and she looked down and away. Cullen's eyes lingered on her face longer than he meant them to. In this bright sunlight, her hair looked almost violet, and the Dalish markings on her forehead glistened. His eyes traced those markings, following the branches of what looked like an intricate illustration of a tree. They spread outward then converged at the delicate bridge of her nose. A few more branches fanned across her cheekbones. For some reason, he found himself unable to look elsewhere for a moment. He considered that he might be lost in thought, but when her gaze caught his again, he realized that it wasn't his thoughts that he was lost in.

It was her.

* * *

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_Being in the Fade was as familiar and natural as breathing. His body felt lighter here, almost like he was constantly floating. His soul felt lighter, too. Less troubled._ _How many times had he come here for reasons too varied and numerous to list?_ _Sadness, loneliness, curiosity, wonder, the thrill of danger. He returned here to experience it all - everything that he denied himself in the realm of wakefulness. The Fade was incredible. Every dream took place here. Every thought, desire, whim, and fantasy played out in this blurred and ever-changing landscape._

_And here he stood again._

_Only this time, he arrived with a very specific purpose._

_Solas walked through the remnants of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, his eyes taking in the shifting walls and ceilings. The stone shimmered, struggling to maintain its shape. Walls appeared then disappeared again; hallways morphed and twisted. He saw flickering images of people walking around - both Mages and Templars. Not ghosts or spirits -just echoes of memories; fragments of remembrance. In the Fade, echoes of events repeated themselves over and over again in an infinite loop. That's why he'd chosen this place. He **needed**  to see what happened here. It was a risk. His physical body was vulnerable in sleep, but at this point, he was willing to risk it all to achieve his goal._

_It was not yet time, however. The Temple was still broken and destroyed, but soon - soon, the Fade and its inhabitants would remember what happened here. Then, he would have the chance to try and find his target once more. In the meantime, he explored the ruins and allowed himself a rare moment or two to truly relax. Only here could he let himself lower his guard and be himself. Only here could he feel without consequence. He stepped to a nearby pool of water and took in his reflection. Waving his hand over it, he watched himself transform. His hair grew out past his shoulders, tied back and braided in an elegant style, a few lines disappeared from his face, and his clothing changed from rags to finely tailored robes lined with rich furs and leathers. The staff in his hand transformed from a battered and gnarled stick to one of intricate design with the skull of a mighty buck at the top._

_He examined his visage, remembering times long gone. Once, he had looked like this. Once, he had walked around with pride and arrogance. The world had lain at his feet - an endless carpet that he could bend and mold at whim. Carefully, he observed every detail of the reflection. Doing this was a brutal reminder of a decadent history that could never be allowed to repeat. Making a sound of disgust, he stepped away from the pool and saw that the Temple's walls were beginning to reform. It seemed that the time of truth was close at hand. Perhaps now he would be able to catch a glimpse of what had transpired here. Not that he didn't have his own theories. He knew full well what was behind the mark on Arianwen's hand. Just as he knew the true name of the one mastermind behind it all. But, knowing wasn't everything. At some point, something hadn't gone as planned here, and he was determined to find out what that was._

_The ghostly images of Templars and Mages suddenly stopped moving. Almost in unison, they raised their arms up as though trying to shield themselves. Solas knew why. The explosion was about to happen. It would topple all of these walls and disintegrate the ghosts, leaving behind nothing but ashes and crumbled rock. He wasn't afraid. This was just a memory, and memories couldn't hurt him. At least, not here. Confident that he was safe, Solas walked towards the center of the explosion and searched for anything out of the ordinary. A voice rumbled through the clearing - menacing, slow, and arrogant. He did not stop, knowing that he only had a limited time to explore before everything was thrown into chaos._

_**Keep the sacrifice still...** _ _the voice demanded. The sacrifice. So, he'd been correct in that assumption at least._

_**This is the hour of our triumph. Today, we will ascend...** _

_**STOP!** _ _\- another voice shouted. Solas couldn't help but halt in his tracks. That sounded just like Arianwen._

_**I will not let you commit this injustice!** _ _\- she yelled. How strange. Her voice sounded so...disembodied. Almost surreal. He rushed forth, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but before he could, pandemonium broke out. Without any warning, a deafening explosion leveled everything in the surrounding area. Solas shuddered as he heard the screaming and moaning of the Veil. Somehow, the power from the blast had rent a hole in it, giving birth to the Breach. He cursed his hesitation, knowing that it might be too late to find what he sought. Desperate now, he lurched forward and burst into a run. Ethereal dust rose up and blinded him; ghostly flames licked at his clothing; a vicious wind whipped his hair in all directions. His eyes frantically searched the ground for a telltale glow - an emerald shine that should have been impossible to miss. He'd requested that Leliana's agents scour the area for this object, but they'd returned empty handed. In truth, that meant little. He couldn't give them a description of the artifact without shedding the light of suspicion on himself, after all. And without a proper description, there was no way that humans could find what he needed._

_He covered the entire field in short order. Fadestepping here was as simple as blinking. When he found no trace of the artifact, he swore, his hands clenching into fists. He gritted his teeth, fighting to control his raging fury. In a bout of impatience, he raised his arms and set whatever was left of this place ablaze. As he stood in the raging inferno, he snarled. Damn it all! How could it have just disappeared? Unless...His thoughts turned dark. Unless that scum had it in his possession. If that was true, then the danger was even greater than he'd originally assumed. If the artifact was still functional, it meant that the enemy could use it against them. Though Solas was certain that the artifact was weakened, it still had plenty of power left within to cause even more death and destruction. He brought a hand to his temple, feeling a shiver of foreboding creeping up his spine._

_Then, something shifted around him. The air changed - grew less dense. He looked up, wondering what caused it, and gasped. Sometimes, the things he saw in the Fade made him yearn that what transpired here could be made real. Sometimes, that wish was so powerful and all-enveloping that he pretended that this world_ _**was** _ _real, if only to fool himself for a short time. When he came here and shaped his own reality, he yearned to do the same outside of his dreams. Was this such a moment? Perhaps. The second he saw Arianwen standing before him, he knew it had to be, for in her arms she held the thing he desired more than anything in this world or the next. She looked completely unharmed; her skin glowed in the remaining light of the surrounding flames. She wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, but it wasn't her body that held his attention. It was what she cradled in her arms with utmost care._

_The artifact._

_His orb._

_He yearned to approach her, but he was terrified. He feared that any movement would shatter this illusion._

_"What is it, Solas?" she asked in her sweet voice. "This is what you're looking for, isn't it?"_

_"Da'len...is that you?" He was shocked to hear how his voice trembled - how desperate it sounded._

_"Are you really_ _**you** _ _?" she replied. "Is this place really this place?"_

_"Do not play games with me," he warned. "Tell me. Are you Arianwen?" Instead of caving into his intimidation, she shrugged._

_"I am, but I am not."_

_"So this is just wishful thinking after all," he lamented, frustrated beyond belief. "Even with your skill, you cannot walk through dreams. This is nothing but an illusion." She smiled, little lines creasing the vallaslin around the corners of her incredible golden eyes. Illusion or not, this duplicate of her was exact._

_"I am here, Solas. I am here." He shook his head, refusing to believe it. "Come closer, Hahren. Please. Let me heal your pain." A thousand explanations rushed to the forefront of his thoughts. An illusion, a spirit, a demon - a trick. This had to be a trick, and if he wasn't careful, he would be caught in a terrible trap._

_"No. I will not fall for this." When she stepped towards him, he stepped back. "Prove it to me. Prove that you are real."_

_"Nothing here is truly real," she countered. "Why do you doubt me? Do you think I would not help you?" When she took another step towards him, he raised his staff threateningly. Her smile faltered. Golden eyes glistened with sadness. "Alright. Then I have no choice. I must awaken it..." She looked down at the orb and closed her eyes. The artifact lit up, the etched lines around the sphere glowing so brightly that he had to squint to keep looking at it. He saw her flinch a split second before her hand - the one with the mark - began to glow in the same way. His eyes widened when the symbols continued to spread, spiraling upwards until they covered her entire arm and part of her torso. As each part lit up, her flesh hissed and bled. The marks looked like vivid burning brands._

_"What is this?" he murmured._

_"I have what you need. I know you've been searching for it for a long time. I've brought it for you. All you have to do is take it from me." Solas frowned. Her words were poison - vile, deadly, and the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. In her embrace, the orb glowed with a familiar aura. It called to him, begged him to take hold of it. Oh, how he wanted to! How he_ _**needed** _ _to believe this vicious lie! But he knew better. For each gift, there was a price that needed to be paid. He searched Arianwen's features for the truth of this and found no hesitation._

_"Do you even know what you ask, da'len?"_

_"I do," she nodded and closed the distance between them. And there it was. Right within his reach. All he needed to do was extend his hand and take what was his by right. Something stopped him, however. This was too simple._

_"How is it that you came by this?" he demanded._

_"It is a part of me now," she explained. "It sustains me, and I nurture it in return."_

_"No," he shook his head, running his fingers across her tattooed skin. So soft - like gossamer. Like the finest silk. "No, it cannot be." He traced the symbols on her arm, caressing upwards to her shoulder, then her neck. He felt her shiver beneath his touch. Finally, he cupped her chin with one hand and tilted her face upwards. "You lie, spirit." Arianwen's expression didn't waver. Instead, she looked to the side. He followed her gaze and saw a figure lying prone in the midst of the Temple's rubble._

_"That is me as well. My body, now unoccupied. Vacant - like an empty box." Solas recognized the figure's armor. It resembled the one that Arianwen had been wearing when she stepped out of the Breach. Confusion assailed him, a sensation that was as unfamiliar as it was unwelcome. If there was anything he hated, it was not knowing something. Just what was going on here? He shook his head, hoping to clear it._

_"How can you be here? You aren't asleep," he argued, grasping to catch the flailing branches of his logic. All of this suddenly felt distant - like the dreams he used to experience before he learned to control them._

_"You still don't believe," Arianwen said. She lifted the orb. "I can show you. Just touch it, and you will see. You will know." Solas hesitated. Was this another attempt to trap him somehow? Demons were proficient at reading minds. Yet...he did not sense a demon within her. All he felt was the same warmth that he'd felt with Arianwen in the forest. This was the same girl. It **had**  to be. Unable to deny himself any longer, Solas reached for the orb. As soon as his skin made contact with the stone, he felt a jolt of raw power flush his veins. Intoxicated, he grabbed the sphere with his other arm, gasping when the power doubled. The sensation was beyond comparison and undoubtedly real. His ears rang. He heard his blood roaring, calling out to the orb. More. He needed more._

_That's when he heard the screaming._

_Not his, but Arianwen's._

_The sound snapped him out of his trance. He staggered back and saw that the marks on her skin had deepened. Her entire right side was covered in fresh blood. She was shaking violently, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, they were filled with suffering._

_"What's happening?" he demanded._

_"You know there is a price," she said. He nodded. "Each time that you take power from this orb, you take some of my life and memories. In order to completely take back this orb, you must end my life with your own hand."_

_"No," he murmured and turned his head, looking at the other version of Arianwen. He imagined seeing her thus - dead and lifeless on the ground at his feet. For a moment - a brief second in the endless wheel of time - he wondered if the sacrifice might be worth it all._

_"You should go," the Arianwen with the orb whispered. "She needs you. I need you."_

_He reached for her, but it was too late. His body rebelled against this knowledge, against the fact that he could even fathom taking this girl's life._

Wakefulness tore him from the Fade, and he lurched up with a silent shout of raw denial. His breathing came in bursts, sweat dripping down his face. Impossible. No. How was such a thing even feasible?

 _Solas_  - an ethereal voice called.  _I need you._  He surged to his feet and looked to the horizon. There in the distance, he saw a plume of black smoke.

* * *

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The rookery was one of Arianwen's favorite places in Haven. Though she'd heard some of the servants and soldiers complaining of the smell here, she found it to be a natural part of things. More than the scent of straw and feathers, she enjoyed watching the birds and occasionally fed them a variety of goodies. Though Leliana had jokingly warned her about fattening the birds too much, she still snuck them treats from the kitchens when she could manage it. The animals showed indifference to her at first, but now – over a week after she'd first come here – a few of them always left their perches to greet her by sitting on her shoulders. As she and Cullen climbed up and over the ladder to the tower, the creatures did just that. She giggled when one settled on the crown of her head and another poked at her hand to see if she'd brought them sweetmeats or cheese.

"I'm sorry," she laughed. "I don't have anything today." The birds chirped and squawked in response.

"Friends of yours?" the Commander teased. She looked up at him, noting that his eyes seemed brighter than usual. A crooked smile adorned his lips. Her eyes followed the scar on his mouth as it dipped. This expression was unusual for him. Every time she saw him or spent time around him, he seemed to carry a heavy burden in his thoughts. The result was a constant half-frown. She'd even heard Varric comment on it once. She could admit that she liked him better this way - relaxed and less weary. Without his ever-present demeanor of seriousness and calm, he looked…

"Um, well…that is…" Arianwen couldn't explain why she felt embarrassed to have him see her speaking with the birds, but she did. She also couldn't explain why her thoughts suddenly felt muddled. Flustered, she tried to find something clever to say in return. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind but the truth. "Yes," she admitted. "They are." A part of her expected him to laugh at that revelation. He couldn't have known that she'd been desperate to have someone to talk to, or that the birds made her feel at peace. Yet, he  _didn't_  laugh.

"That's nice," he said instead. "I never come up here. We usually have one of Leliana's people take care of messages." He leaned on one of the tower's support beams, resting his arms across his chest. "It's quiet here. I can see why you would like it." He pointed to the bird on her arm. "Does it have a name?"

"No. Leliana says that messenger birds usually don't."

"Well, they aren't pets," the Commander reasoned, rubbing his chin. Arianwen heard his glove scrape against the stubble there and wondered if it was as scratchy as it looked. He continued to look at her expectantly, as though waiting for her to continue or contradict him. She raised her arm and stroked the bird there. It closed its eyes and leaned into her touch, fluffing out its lovely black plumage. She loved how soft the feathers felt against her fingertips. Of course she knew that a bird wasn't a person; it couldn't be sad because it had no name, for it didn't truly know itself. However, every being in nature deserved to be loved, and having a name and an identity allowed for that.

"It's lonely – not having a name." Arianwen made sure not to look at him when she said that, worried about what he might think of her reply. Would he consider it strange? She tensed, marveling at how nervous she was. With Solas, all tension seemed to melt away. She felt comfortable speaking to him and asking him about anything, and she certainly never worried about saying the wrong thing.

"Why do you say that?" he wondered.

"You don't agree, Commander?"

"I don't know," he answered with a small smile. "I've always had one."

"I haven't," she said quickly. His smile withered, a crease forming between his brows.

"Forgive me…I didn't mean…"

"No, it's alright," she reassured him. "I just meant that, when I didn't know my name, I felt lonely and empty. I imagine that that's a feeling not unique to people." She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the bird's side. It's tiny heart fluttered beneath her ear.

"Perhaps you should name them, then," the Commander suggested, surprising her. "Though I'm certain you might be hard pressed to name them  _all_. There's at least fifty birds here…"

She started to protest, thinking to remind him that the Spymaster had given contradictory instructions, but paused when she turned to face him again. The Commander wasn't looking at her. His gaze was fixated on something beyond a nearby window. Daylight filtered through the openings in the walls, bouncing and angling on the various coops and cages arranged within the small tower. Some of it landed in his hair, accenting its rich golden color. Like that, with his chin held high and his broad shoulders straight, he looked much like a lion basking in the sun. Almost by instinct, she reached out with her senses, wondering if she would find his emotions closed off as always. Instead, he was unguarded. The momentary weakness allowed her a glimpse into his mind.

Arianwen sensed a vortex of feelings there ranging from concern, to tension, to an unusual sort of calm – like the surface of a lake. Beneath it, however, she felt a great power churning, the potential for infinite strength. What a strange man. He felt so different from Solas. Not a vast mystery, but mystifying nonetheless. Shielding and protecting. Ever-vigilant. Unflinching and dauntless. The vision of a battle swam before her eyes. She could see the Commander there, giving orders and fighting alongside his men. He would never order them to do anything he wouldn't do himself. He was proud and fierce, yet there was something underneath all of that too - some sort of fear that sought to trip him up like quicksand.

So intent on her task was she that she didn't realize how much time passed in silence. When his eyes captured hers again, she was unable to look away. How long did they stay this way? Arianwen couldn't have said. Everything seemed to fall away around her until she felt completely surrounded by the Commander's powerful aura. It was really no wonder that Cassandra trusted him so.  _His eyes aren't brown_  – she thought.  _There's flecks of gold there. And amber._ She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. At the very least, her eyes didn't seem to bother him. Did he truly see her, as Solas did?

"There you two are," someone said from the base of the ladder to the tower. And just like that, whatever hypnosis held them both in its sway was broken. The Commander turned to the direction of the speaker. He didn't seem to be affected by what had just transpired. Arianwen envied him; she felt a little out of breath and disoriented. "There's something I have to tell you," the speaker announced. She recognized the voice as Leliana's. "It's about Solas." Arianwen's heart skipped a beat. What would Leliana have to say about him? As soon as she heard the words, she knew that the news wouldn't be good. It was just a hunch, but Arianwen knew she could believe in it. With surprising agility, the Spymaster climbed the ladder upwards and landed on the tower platform with a jump. "We know why he's missing, and we know where he went."

"We?" the Commander echoed.

"My people," Leliana explained. "I sent out agents to search and they followed his trail somewhere we didn't expect."

"The Temple," Arianwen gasped, already sensing what Leliana wanted to say. Her heart clenched, a cold sweat breaking out all over her body. How did she know that? Did it even matter? "That's so dangerous…why would he go there?"

"You didn't know?" Leliana asked. Arianwen shook her head with vehemence.

"No. If I did, I…I would have said something… would have tried to tell him not to go…but he wouldn't have listened anyway…" She stood, startling the birds on her arm and shoulders into flight. She tried to run through reasons why Solas would have gone to such a place on his own. Nothing came to mind. He knew the dangers; there was no way that he didn't. If Solas wasn't anything, it was foolish.

_Why did he go alone? I could have gone with him! I could have protected him…_

_**How?**_  – her mind contradicted.  _ **You've barely learned a few spells and dagger tricks and you think you can protect someone from demons?**_

 _I can try –_ she maintained.  _He shouldn't have gone alone._

"We have to go after him…there's demons…and the Breach…" She started when a pair of hands gripped her shoulders. Arianwen blinked, her vision coming back into focus. The Commander was looking at her with a stern gaze.

"It'll be alright. We'll find him. Solas is a powerful Mage. I fought beside him and saw his strength with my own eyes. He can take care of himself." He addressed Leliana next. "Is this why you brought us up here? I'm going to assume no one else knows about this. Cassandra would be furious."

"I haven't told anyone. Mainly, I needed to see if Arianwen knew anything about it."

"How long until we can gather some men to come with us? I know a few from my units that would be willing to go."

"I have some scouts who have already volunteered to come."

Just when Arianwen began to feel hopeful, her breath froze in her lungs. The air grew thicker. All sound disappeared save for the rushing of blood in her ears. In the blink of an eye, everything changed. She saw the Commander's lips moving, but couldn't hear anything that he said. Whatever emotions she'd been feeling up to this point disappeared as though blown away by a gust of cold wind. The room seemed to shrink. She struggled to catch her next breath, but an iron band had wrapped itself around her chest. Constricting, tightening, cutting off all chance for air.

The ground dipped upwards and she fell to her knees, hardly feeling the impact. Or was it the opposite? Had the sky fallen down? Something forced her eyes to slide to her arm – the one with the mark. The symbol there began to glow. There was no warning for what came next. In seconds, it started to spread, slicing, burning, and carving into her skin. Upwards, higher and higher, until she felt the writing etching into her neck and her chest. A hand squeezed her heart; the veins and arteries in her body caught fire. Then a drain - something was pulling life out of her as though through a funnel. Someone was screaming in the distance. Surely not her. She'd experienced this pain before; this nightmare. It couldn't frighten her as it had in the past; it couldn't cause her mind to topple to the brink of insanity.

Could it?

A realization.

_That's me…I'm the one screaming…_

So why couldn't she feel her throat contract? Her body felt so distant, almost like it wasn't hers. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she saw that she was floating above the tower floor. There, Arianwen saw herself lying prone on the straw and wood, thrashing around and clawing at her hand. Blood seeped from the edges of the emerald writing on her skin. And just like that, something jerked her back into awareness. Her mind collided with her physical body with the force of a rock slide. She gasped for air as the pain finally caught up to her. Tears stung her eyes like acid, flowing free and out of her control. The screams came too. Over and over until she couldn't breathe anymore. She rolled onto her side, thinking she might vomit.

"It's coming…" she heard herself whisper raggedly.

"What's going on?" the Commander demanded, kneeling beside her. His face had gone white as a sheet. Leliana was there too, her eyes hard as steel – calculating, analyzing.

"Arianwen," the spymaster called. "What's happening to you?"

"It's coming…" she repeated, gagging when she felt blood drip from her nose. Before anything else could be said or done, an invisible force pulled on Arianwen's arm. She jerked into a rigid sitting position, her hand aimed skyward. A light tore from her palm, morphing and twisting into a sphere of black and green flame. With a sound that resembled the cracking and shattering of glass, crystals grew out of the sphere, spiraling into twisted formations. Within, she saw the reflection of hundreds of glowing eyes. Lightning crackled as it shot out of the fire, slicing clean through several of the tower's support beams. The roof groaned and began to slide down, teetering and balancing for a moment before slipping from its foundation and falling to the ground below. Stone and mortar was ripped from the surrounding walls; the material flew towards the flames and disappeared, consumed in less time than it took to blink. The birds in the tower screeched and took to the air, fleeing for their lives. Some didn't make it - were pulled into the cyclone of raging energy in a cacophony of terrified screeching. Leliana and the Commander both shuffled backwards, their eyes wide with disbelief. They looked shocked and horrified.

_For good reason…_

For there, in the center of the village, Arianwen opened an enormous rift.


	7. Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support, everyone!
> 
> I'd love to hear from more of my readers. Are you enjoying the story? Is there anything you'd like to see in future chapters? Please let me know!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I finished it much sooner than expected.

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_._

_Burning._ _**Pulsing. Smells like charred wood.** _ _Candle wax and rain. The sound of hail on shingled rooftops. Is it raining? In the Wilds, the rain was magical. **Mother's arms.**  Tight and protecting.  **Mother's voice.**  Sweet and sad.  **Why does the Clan hate me?**  Why do they look at me like that?  **Pain.**  Such pain. _ _**Body hurts.** _ _Arm burns._ _**Something cutting, slicing, carving.** _ _What have I done? I opened a rift._ _**In the middle of the village.** _ _What have I done? What have I done?_ _**What have I done?** _

As she floated in and out of awareness, Arianwen heard voices whispering around her. Trying to discern separate words was too difficult, especially since her head throbbed with unforgiving savagery. She imagined that this is what it might feel like to have her head crushed beneath a boulder. Every time she tried to move, she thought her skull might crack open from the pressure. She struggled against the discomfort, knowing that time wasn't on her side. The memory of what happened in the rookery haunted her, urging her to open her eyes. At first, a young man's face floated above her. Gold hair and blue eyes. Then she blinked, and he was gone.

"I won't leave," Cassandra's voice seemed to reverberate all around her. Arianwen reached up and touched her ear, thinking that something was messing with her hearing. When she narrowed her vision to her fingers, she saw that they came away caked in dried blood. Had she hit her head on something? The explosion from the rift had been so violent. Her hands explored her surroundings. Scratchy, soft, comfortable. The smell of leather and cloth. Someone had placed her on a bedroll and covered her with lambswool blankets. The bandages on her arm smelled of Elfroot and Embrium. She curled her toes against a chill in the air; her boots were gone.

"We need to evacuate the eastern part of the village, Lady Seeker," someone argued - a young human man with auburn hair and hazel eyes. She didn't recognize him. Above her, Cassandra's chiseled features swam into focus; she wore her usual glare of disapproval as the man attempted to explain something. "Leliana and a company of soldiers are already in the west trying to get those people to safety. Unless we send someone with authority to take -"

"Come to your senses, Rylen," she ordered. "Those people are gone. Most of Haven has already been - "

"What's happening?" Arianwen asked. Her throat felt raw and swollen.

"Herald, you're awake," the young man straightened his shoulders.

"Cassandra," she rasped. "The rookery...the rift..." Her muscles screamed in protest as she sat up. Judging by the walls and interior, this was the Chantry building. Candles had been set up in random locations all around the main hall in an attempt to keep the place well lit. Outside, grey clouds covered the sun. Sleet and hail pounded against the glass of the windows. Cassandra motioned for the man to leave and crouched down beside her, handing her a pitcher of water. She helped her take a few sips then checked on the bandage around her arm.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Not good. What happened? I don't remember anything after..." Arianwen gasped when Cassandra took hold of her uninjured arm and squeezed it. Not in a friendly way, either. The lines of her face were raw and aggressive; her eyes blazed with an inner storm.

"Tell me that this wasn't your doing," she commanded in a low whisper. Arianwen bit her lip, the accusation in Cassandra's gaze so heavy that she was forced to look at the ground.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened...everything was fine, then suddenly -" she stopped when Cassandra's expression changed to something she'd never seen before. "What is it?" She looked around the Chantry, noticing for the first time how it was filled to the brim with people. Wounded men and women lay moaning on the ground. Some had been placed on tables. Healers were running around between them all, frantically trying to bandage their wounds, some with magic and others with poultices and bandages. Women jogged through the room with baskets of filthy cloth and gauze, picking up more then tossing everything into an unoccupied corner. Everything and everyone stopped when unnatural shrieks and howls resounded outside the building. The candles flickered; Arianwen grabbed Cassandra's hand, her heart pounding.

"What's out there?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Demons. There were so many. We barely managed to evacuate the upper levels of the village here before they were on us. The fire started at the smith's forges and spread until most of the city was aflame." She slammed her fist against the ground; her shoulders shook with anger. "Damn it all...just when things were finally..."

"Where is the Commander?" Arianwen inquired. She searched the room, but found no sign of him. The realization that he wasn't here was sudden; the panic that she felt, too, was sudden. "Is he fighting with Leliana?" Cassandra was silent for a while. Then -

"He's gone." Arianwen's breath hitched in her throat. Gone? The word echoed in her ears. Gone. Gone. She clutched at her chest as though someone had dealt her a physical blow there.

"What do you mean?"

"He...stayed behind with a few soldiers to hold off the horde in order to allow Leliana to escape with the villagers. She said that he was swallowed by the rift..."

"No...no, that's not possible..."

"He saved your life," Cassandra emphasized, her dark eyes cold as frozen metal. "And many others."

 _It's quiet up here. I can see why you like it..._ his voice whispered in her memory. Arianwen shook her head. The room spun and it felt like someone was wrapping a leather cord around her neck. Just now...just now they'd been talking. Only moments ago, it seemed, they'd shared a friendly conversation in peace.

 _**Fighting to breathe.** _ _So heavy. He can't be gone._ _**Someone tell me it's a lie.** _ _The Lion can't be dead. He is strong and proud, brave and indestructible._ _**He saved me** _ _. He saved me so many times._ _**And now I've killed him.** _ _What have I done?_ _**What have I done?** _

The words cycled in her mind over and over, speeding up until they became nothing but a blur of emotion. Why were her thoughts so…loud? It was almost like someone was narrating the maelstrom in her mind. Cassandra steadied her when she wavered. The torment in the Seeker's eyes couldn't be denied. Impossible. There was no way that that strong man had been swept away so easily. Who else had been killed? A face flashed before her. What about Solas? Was he alright?

"No one has seen him," Cassandra revealed. Arianwen hadn't even realized she'd spoken aloud. She gasped when something banged on the enormous doors to the Chantry.

"It won't hold for long..." Cassandra said with a scowl.

"Let us in!" a muffled voice demanded. Arianwen immediately recognized Leliana.

"Maker be praised," Cassandra muttered, surged to her feet, and ran for the doors, shouting for the soldiers to open them. Barricades were shifted and pushed out of the way. With everything cleared out, Cassandra pulled on the doors to reveal a mud-covered Leliana and a sea of faces. Some, she recognized, but mostly these people were strangers. Still, Arianwen was glad that they'd made it. Cassandra urged the villagers to enter the Chantry, and Arianwen realized that she wasn't looking at the survivors; she was searching for the Commander.

 _Fighting against the truth. **Cassandra is wrong.**  She has to be wrong.  **Any moment now, he'll step out and greet us.**  She's lying.  **Where is he?**  Where is he? Chest constricting.  **My fault?**  Could it really be my fault? H_ _e's not gone...I won't believe it..._

"How does it look?" Cassandra asked Leliana, her voice cutting through Arianwen's agitation. She struggled to hear what they were saying, so loud was her distress. The Spymaster's face was frozen in neutrality. Instead of replying right away, she gestured for Cassandra and Arianwen to follow her. They did so – Arianwen stumbling along – until they reached the back of the Chantry and entered the war room. This place had never been in pristine order, but now it was a mess. Papers were scattered everywhere. Shelves had fallen over and spilled their innards all over the floor. Books, parchment, and quills mixed with ink and dried candle wax.

"What happened here?" Arianwen wondered as she took in the disaster. Cassandra and Leliana either didn't hear her or ignored her. As soon as the Spymaster closed the door to the room, she rounded on Arianwen.

"Can you close that thing?" she demanded in a half growl. Arianwen shrunk back, not prepared to see so much fury in her eyes. She'd never seen Leliana truly angry. Always, she was the voice of reason in the group. Always, she was grounded where everyone else struggled to maintain their composure.

"I-I think so," she answered.

"Good. We are running out of time..."

"But, not without the Commander," she insisted. "Where is he? Cassandra said - "

"He's dead," Leliana snapped, the apathy on her face almost too much for Arianwen to swallow. How could she say it so calmly? Was he not her friend, too? "And unless you close that rift, we will all follow." She grabbed Arianwen's arm - her sharp gauntlets nicking her skin - and dragged her over to the war table. Her finger flew out and landed on a map of the village. "Do you see this? This is the center of the rift. This is where the demons are pouring in from." She pointed to different locations. "This area - all of it - is in flames. Looking for survivors won't be possible. However,  _this_ side may yet have a chance. We can't stay in the Chantry. It's only a matter of time before they get in. We must evacuate the city immediately."

"Can we take the survivors down this road?" Cassandra inquired, pointing to another area on the map. Leliana shook her head.

"No. It's too narrow, and we won't have enough time. We have to go this way," she swiped her finger down the region she pointed out earlier. "The bulk of demons are on this other side. While they're distracted, we  _have_  to go."

"The people back there are wounded," Arianwen protested. "They're hurt and they're bleeding. You won't be able to move quickly enough."

"We may lose some along the way, but we have to try," Leliana maintained. "Cassandra, can you lead the way? Get the men gathered."

"Rylen survived. He was Cullen's second."

"Good. They'll listen to him. As soon as Varric brings in the stragglers, we'll – "

"Wait," Arianwen interjected. "Stop." Both women turned to look at her. "Why are you giving up on the Commander?"

"Because he's gone," Leliana ground out.

"That's not possible," she insisted. "We were just there. He was standing with us in the rookery. He couldn't have just been pulled in. The rift wasn't close enough. He would have - " Leliana's hand lashed out so quickly that Arianwen didn't even have time to dodge it. She stood dumbfounded for a moment, feeling her cheek sting without registering why it was doing so. Her fingers touched the swelling skin as she looked to the Spymaster for an explanation. Her mind screamed again, only this time it didn't feel like her own thoughts that were being narrated.

 _She's in pain._ _**The Lion is gone.** _ _Their leader gave his life to save others._ _**No more golden hair in the sun.** _ _No more strong shoulders to lean on. The Lion is gone, and he will never protect them again._ _**But this wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for you.** _ _So many dead. The village burning. The Inquisition is finished. It's all your doing._ _**All your fault.** _ _What have you done? What have you done?_ _**It's all your fault!** _

"He's  _gone_ ," Leliana repeated in a voice almost too low to hear above the shouting in Arianwen's mind. "I saw it happen with my own eyes. You fell in the rookery, screaming and crying. Then that  _thing_ started to glow and you raised your hand and opened the rift. The tower was sucked in almost immediately. You were thrown back and nearly killed in the impact. Cullen picked you up and got us out of the tower, then gave you to Rylen and stayed behind with a handful of men." Arianwen didn't know what to say. She was overwhelmed, both with guilt and fear. She looked at her arm, where the mark pulsed beneath the bandages with a dull green light. It had stopped spreading for the moment, at least. In her mind's eye, she saw the way the Commander had looked before all of this began: relaxed, serene.

_Hair shining like spun gold. Eyes as brown as the earth. Safety. Comfort. Strength. He can't be gone…_

_**Stop it! Get out of my head!**_ \- she inwardly hollered. Stumbling back, Arianwen collapsed into a nearby chair. When she looked up, she saw those same blue eyes again – the ones that had greeted her upon awakening. Then a body came into focus. Tattered leather and buckled boots. She tried to blink to clear her vision, but as soon as she did, Arianwen forgot what it was that she was trying to see.

"What are we going to do now?" Cassandra asked, ignoring her for the moment.

"Tell Rylen to gather the soldiers. We'll move out immediately."

"But where will we go? Even if we survive the demons, we won't be able to wander around. It's the middle of winter!"

"We'll go to Redcliffe," Leliana said. "I have connections there. If anything, we can..." her voice faded out. Arianwen stood up and walked away from them, lost in her own turmoil. Now wasn't the time to hesitate. This mark was on her hand for a reason. She'd been wishing for it to awaken, hoping that she could help somehow. Was now not the time to fulfill her role?

 _Helpless. Insecure._ _**Feeling like an empty shell.** _ _You want to help, but you're afraid._ _**You shouldn't be.** _ _Remember the lion's eyes. His strength._ _**Shielding and protecting.** _ _Unyielding and unflinching._ _**You want to save him more than anything.** _ _More than Haven. He saved you before. So many times. Now it's your turn._

The muddled thoughts ran through her mind like a flailing sprinter, chaotic and confusing. She looked up, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. For a moment, she thought she saw someone standing in the corner of the room. Now that he was there, she was certain that she'd seen him before. His lips were moving.

 _The scent of earth and safety._ _**Shield glowing in the sun** _ _. Sword raised in a powerful grip._ _**Protecting you from the villagers.** _ _You want to go after him. Don't be afraid._ _**You can go.** _ _That mark can help you._ _**You can help.** _

Help? The mark could? When all it's done is cause this disaster?

 _Not just that._ _**It stopped the Breach.** _ _It hurts you, eats your life away._ _**Like a leech with hungry teeth.** _ _But as it takes from you, it can give and it can help._ _**Choose to let it help.** _ _You can use it. You can control it. It is a part of you._

Then the boy disappeared, and she couldn't quite recall why she'd been staring at the wall for so long. She just knew exactly what she had to do. The fear that had been clouding her mind peeled away to reveal something Arianwen hadn't expected to possess: confidence. Whirling around, she saw that the Spymaster and Seeker were still arguing. Arianwen walked up to them and smashed her hand down on the table. Both women looked startled.

"I'm going after him."

"What?" Cassandra's eyes widened.

"That's suicide," Leliana protested.

"If he was swallowed by the rift, then he could still be alive."

"No one could have survived that."

"I did," she challenged. "I won't leave him behind. I'm going to the center of Haven," she pointed to the map. "I can close the rift behind me. I'll find another way out, and we can catch up with you. For now, we have to stop the tear from getting any larger, and we have to give the survivors a chance to get out of the city." She pointed to another place on the map. "There's a watchtower here - downhill, so you can see it from the top of the Chantry windows. I'll light a signal there when I'm ready to close the rift. The demons will be pulled back. At that moment, you will take the survivors and head this way," her finger swirled to another spot on the parchment.

"You want to go  _alone_?" Cassandra shook her head vehemently. "No. Absolutely not."

"This is something only I can do," Arianwen insisted. "Leliana will need you. The people of Haven will need you. I'll move quicker on my own, and I can stay hidden better if there's no one with me." The two women first looked at each other then turned back to her.

"Arianwen," the Seeker began.

"I know, Cassandra." She smiled and pressed a hand to the dark-haired woman's chest, right at her heart. "Lead them to safety. I'll be alright." She looked at Leliana. "I know you blame me for what happened, and I can't say that you're wrong. I don't know why the rift opened when it did, but all I can do is try to make it right. I just have one request."

"What's that?" the Spymaster asked, her eyes softening.

"Solas. You must find him. I...feel that he's in danger."

"It will be done," Leliana agreed. "As soon as we can, we will do everything to track him down." As she gave them one last nod of reassurance and turned to go, Leliana stopped her. "What should we tell the villagers?"

"Tell them that they can save themselves. They don't need a Herald to show them the way to the light." Arianwen didn't understand where her confidence was coming from or why she felt so absolutely certain of her decisions, but she wasn't about to question this moment or her instincts. As she stepped out of the war room, she felt powerful - less empty and hollow than she'd ever felt before. She  _wanted_  to help save Haven and the Commander, and she would do so no matter the personal cost.

* * *

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By the time Solas made it to Haven, the weather had turned foul. Sleet was slashing down in freezing torrents, mixing with the smoke and fumes from the village to create a toxic cloud. From his position on top of a hill, he could see part of the city. His gut wrenched, for it looked like a natural disaster had broken out in the short time that he'd been absent. Most of the buildings were burned to the ground, and the flames continued to spread even with the weather as an obstacle. In the very middle, a gaping rift hung above a colossal chasm. The vortex spun in restless spirals, pulling in nearby debris. Unless something was done, the entire city would soon be swallowed into the Fade.

 _Arianwen_  - he called out.  _Where are you?_

He'd stopped hearing her voice some time ago. That worried him, for not only did he feel connected to her, he also now understood her importance. No matter what, he could let no harm come to her, for she was the embodiment of the artifact he'd been searching for. He still didn't know what choice he would make in regards to that. He needed the power in the orb, but in order to take it, he had to destroy Arianwen's soul. Could he make that sacrifice? He shook his head, unwilling to dwell on it right now. At this moment, he needed to focus on finding her first. He surmised that the first place any survivors would go would be the Chantry, for it was the strongest building in the entire village. It could be used as a temporary shelter in a crisis, but he doubted that they could remain there for long. He had to try.

He Fadestepped through the forest at breakneck pace, not stopping for even a moment. The orb had given him an immense reserve of mana and energy. If what he saw was true, chances were that Arianwen had paid for it with her blood. Or worse. He intended to use the gift to its fullest to make sure that he returned the favor. Each one of his Fadesteps grew longer and longer, his body growing more and more intangible with each push. Eventually, he couldn't tell where the air began and his body ended. Magic wrapped so tightly around him that it might as well have been a second skin. Again and again, he shot through the air until he spiraled through the city gates, glided up the main road, and stopped right at the Chantry doors.

"Seeker!" he shouted over the roaring of fire and hissing of sleet. His fists banged on the doors. He knew that if anyone survived, it would be her. Chances were, she and the Commander were now in charge. "Cassandra, let me in!" The doors groaned as they opened, revealing a group of faces both familiar and not. Cassandra stood at the head of all of them, looking ragged on the edges. Behind her stood Varric, whose eyes held an odd sort of burden within them. His coat was drenched in blood on one side and soaked through with mud and water. Beside him, Leliana was giving a few soldiers a set of instructions. Cassandra ushered him inside and closed the doors behind him.

"Solas," she breathed. "Where have you  _been_?" The fury in her voice was more than palpable. He felt it hit him with the force of an adamantite maul. She grabbed the front of his robes and shook him with such violence that he felt his neck pop. "Do you have any idea what's been happening here? Where have you  _been_?" Solas frowned, for he'd never seen Cassandra in such a state of emotional turmoil.

"Let him go, Cassandra," Leliana ordered. "We don't have time for this. Don't take your eyes off the tower." That's when Solas noticed that the survivors were all gathered in groups. The soldiers stood in formation, their weapons ready. Another youth was giving them commands, reminding them how to raise their shields to defend against varying types of attacks.

"What's going on?" His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for one particular face. "Where is Arianwen?"

"She's gone to close the rift," Varric said, shouldering Bianca.

"She's...what?" A mistake. It had to be. He'd misheard him. He waited – for an eternity it seemed – but when nobody corrected the dwarf, Solas felt color draining from his face. "Who went with her?" Another scan of the room. "Where is Commander Cullen?"

"Dead," Varric revealed. "He was pulled into the rift, though the girl's crazy enough to think she can save him."

"Who went with her?" Solas repeated, louder this time.

"Nobody went with her," Varric rubbed his temple and shook his head. "She went alone. Once she's ready to close the rift, she'll light a signal on the top of that tower," he pointed to a barricaded window where Solas could see the tip of a watchtower in the distance. His mind went blank. That was not a short trip. Right now, she was out there by herself, likely dodging or fighting a horde of demons...on her  _own_? She wasn't completely helpless. She could mold a few elemental spells and cast a barrier, but that wouldn't be enough. Nowhere near enough. He imagined her in the clutches of a Terror or a Shade and stumbled back, feeling like he might sick for the first time in his life.

"And then...?" he asked.

"And then she wants to jump into the rift herself," the dwarf shrugged. "She's lost her marbles." He rounded on Cassandra. "I can't believe you let her go," he barked. "What happened, huh? She just spat out this insane master plan, and you rolled with it?"

"She hasn't lost her mind," Cassandra countered. "She's buying us enough time to get out of here."

"Yeah, well nobody asked her to," Varric snapped. "I've had enough heroics to last me  _ten_  lifetimes without her doing something this stupid." The outburst was entirely out of character, so much so that both women gave him a look of concern. He flicked his hand at both of them in a dismissive gesture and walked away, muttering under his breath.

"You didn't stop her," Solas murmured. " _None_  of you stopped her?" The same emotion hovered over all of their faces: guilt. They'd sent the girl to her death, and they knew it. And for what? Some villagers that may or may not make it out alive? This was what they'd sarcrificed her for? What they'd sacrificed his  _orb_ for? Fury bloomed in his chest like a sickening blood stain. Somewhere out there, she was alone and terrified - running through the freezing rain and sticky mud. Somewhere out there, his precious artifact was about to be put in harm's way.

_They let her go alone…_

"We could use your help getting out of here," Cassandra said. He ignored her - wanted nothing more to do with any of them. His vision had tunneled, and all he could think about was how quickly he could get to Arianwen before she did something foolish. She wanted to close the rift, but what if using the mark hurt the orb? What if it was damaged in the process? He had to find it. He had to retrieve it immediately. Everything else took a lower rung on the ladder of his priorities.

_And Arianwen? She's part of it._

Of course. Arianwen, too. But the orb - the orb mattered more than anything. Varric tried to tell him something, but he was already pushing people of the way to get to the door.

"Where are you going?" Cassandra shouted.

"Where I belong," he said as he Fadestepped outside.

* * *

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Arianwen wiped a slough of water from her face, wrinkling her nose to stifle a sneeze. It was colder out here than she'd anticipated. The rain and sleet had soaked her flimsy leather outfit all the way through to her smallclothes, and the wind wasn't helping matters. She shivered, her teeth clattering together as she huddled beneath a flimsy bit of rooftop. On her way to the watchtower, she'd managed to loot a pair of daggers from a dead soldier. A part of her felt guilty for taking anything from the dead, but another part knew that it was necessary.

 _It's cold and the mud is deep._ _**So much water.** _ _Shivering. Which way to the tower?_ _**Going the wrong way, but not.** _ _Seeing the tower in the distance. Knowing what you have to do._ _**That's all that matters.** _

A few times since she'd left the Chantry, she could have sworn that she saw a familiar young man calling out to her from the direction she was running in, but every time she tried to focus on his face, she doubted that she'd seen anything at all. The mark throbbed under the bandages on her arm, and the blood loss she'd suffered a few hours prior wasn't helping. Her head still felt heavy. Perhaps she needed to take a break, to sit down and catch her breath. Her thoughts rebelled, insisting that she keep going. But, in the end, her body gave out. Arianwen hid in the shadow of a nearby cottage. The roof on it was missing, and parts of it still burned. However, it was warm. So much warmer than running.

She dropped into a crouch and looked at the clouds. Her senses told her that this sleet wasn't the worst of the weather to come. Soon, a snowstorm would sweep through the valley. She wondered how the villagers would survive it without proper shelter. Perhaps if she could close the rift, they could stay in the Chantry. Surely the soldiers could dispatch what was left of the demons. So far, the streets looked fairly empty. Cassandra had mentioned that the bulk of the demons were in another area. For now, she'd been fortunate enough not to encounter any. Something told her, however, that her luck wouldn't last for long.

After she felt sufficiently rested, Arianwen pressed on. It felt like she'd been traveling for ages when she finally saw the watchtower looming above her. Some distance away, she could see the tip of the rift. The tower's ladder had been completely burned away. She would have to climb the structure itself if she hoped to reach the top. Instinct whispered that she'd done this before. In the Wilds, she'd climbed trees and slept in aravels. Or was that just a distant dream? Unwilling to give into sentiment right now, Arianwen backed up some distance, sheathed her daggers, and took a running start, jumping at the last moment. From this point on, she focused only on climbing, tossing aside any thoughts that would hinder her concentration.

The wood was slippery and treacherous. Some of the protruding metal was slick with water and ice. A few times, she nearly lost her grip or footing, catching herself with gritted teeth and growing determination. If only this wasn't the only way to do this. Then the realization hit her. She could Fadestep. Squinting up against the rain, she noted that the top wasn't so far now. Though she'd only ever managed to get the spell to work once, there was no harm in trying now. She narrowed her eyes against the streams of freezing water and focused on the top of the tower. Solas's teachings ghosted through her memories.

_Intangible. Ethereal. Feel the Veil. Pierce it. Like a needle through thread. Find the eye and guide the string. I am the thread and the Veil is the eye. I must pierce it. There are no boundaries to my self. I am no longer substantial, and no substance can stop me. I am a ghost._

The moment she felt her body grow weightless, she pooled together a burst of mana and charged forward. The tower's structure whizzed past her and she cried out in excitement at her success – a sound that quickly turned into one of distress when she realized that she'd made a grievous miscalculation. It wouldn't be enough. She hadn't pushed enough, and at this rate, she wouldn't wind up where she needed to be. As invisible forces pulled her upwards, Arianwen struggled against the spell – tried to slow her momentum so she could grab onto a piece of wood or metal – but she wasn't skilled enough. The spell was too tricky, and she'd had far too little practice.

She shot clear past the top of the tower and screamed when the spell threw her out of its clutches and into thin air. For a split second, she flailed around, panicking when she saw that the ground was so very far down below. Time slowed as she deliberated how painful her death was going to be – and how foolish. Something caught her eye. A young man stood directly below her, golden hair falling forward over his eyes beneath a large-brimmed hat. Him again. But who was he? And where had she seen him before? As their gazes collided, her thoughts ran wild. She heard a voice narrating her panic.

 _I'm going to die. I'm going to fall._ _**Give me a spell. Give me any spell!** _ _Wings. Like a bird. Or a bat. Or a dragon. Dragon? Why a dragon?_ _**I don't want to die. Someone help me!** _ _I can't die like this. The villagers are waiting for me. I must light the signal. I must light the signal. I must light the signal._ _**I must close the rift!** _

At that moment, her eyes snapped sideways, to the rift. As she began to fall, she saw it crack and groan as a new wave of demons clawed their way out of it. And there, in the middle of it all, stood a Pride demon, bigger than any she'd ever seen. She turned back to the boy, but he was gone again.

 _This can't happen. This isn't fair. Why? I refuse. I won't let this happen._ _**I will not allow it!** _

Everything shattered, then – her fears, her doubts, and her hesitations. If she didn't do this, the village would be destroyed. If she didn't light the signal and close the rift, the Commander would be lost. Success was not an option; it was necessity. The alternatives were simply not allowable. Her thoughts slowed, the chaos finally surrendering to reason; she knew what she needed to do. As gravity pulled her down, she reached out with her magic and attempted another Fadestep in mid-air. This time, she didn't hesitate to push harder and use more mana.

Arianwen heard a  _pop_  as she entered the teleportation bubble and gritted her teeth, watching the top of the tower zoom towards her. Right as she was about to hit it, she pulled back with all her strength. The bubble collapsed and spewed her out of its grip. With a strangled yell, she hit the platform and rolled. Desperate to stop her momentum, Arianwen grabbed at anything within her reach. Just as she thought that she would surely roll over the edge, her fingers managed to catch a loose board. She flinched as she felt splinters dig into her skin. One of her nails snapped and tore off, the pain so abrupt and intense that her eyes watered. Then nothing.

One second.

Then two.

She hung on the edge of the tower, panting to catch her breath, almost waiting for something else to go wrong. When nothing did, she tried to move. Fear and adrenaline kept her muscles stiff, but Arianwen managed to work through it and clamber up and over the edge. She rolled onto her back, watching the sky as her heart pounded like war drums in her chest. Afraid to hesitate for too long, she scrambled on hands and knees to the middle of the platform, gathered a bunch of debris together, and summoned fire. The rain and sleet warred with her intentions, dousing any flame she conjured.

 _You need a different flame_  – a voice whispered next to her ear. She resisted the impulse to turn around this time, knowing that she would find nothing but air. Whatever that voice was, it had given her an idea. Solas had shown her Fade magic once. His fire wasn't orange and gold, but green and blue. It didn't burn the same way that a regular flame did. Could she summon something like that? She'd never even tried before. Surely it was impossible.

 _Try it_  – the voice urged. She hissed when the mark throbbed under her bandages. In a moment of inspiration, she unsheathed one of her daggers and ripped through the gauze. The material fell away to reveal a set of glowing green markings. Arianwen wanted to flinch away from the sight of her damaged, burned, and bleeding skin, but couldn't. Something about the mysterious writing was almost beautiful. Would this remain with her for the rest of her life? Or would it fall dormant again after she closed the Breach for good? Assuming that she could; assuming that today wouldn't be her last day of life.

 _Accept me –_ that voice whispered again. Arianwen realized that it was originating from the mark itself.  _I am part of you. Do not deny me any longer. Join with me…_ Her mind churned. Inside, understanding dawned. A part of her. Of course. All this time, she'd been convinced that this mark was some sort of curse that she was destined to bear. All this time, she'd believed that without it, she was nothing. Perhaps that was not the case at all. She  _was_  the mark, and as she understood that, she watched the burns and lacerations on her body begin to close and heal. The pain faded; the throbbing stopped. Her mind cleared.

She raised her now healed arm and summoned fire once more. Because she shaped it with the mark, because she molded it with willpower, because she gave it a breath of life using raw mana and a spark from deep within herself, the spell hurt to cast, but the fire did not sputter and die in a hopeless battle with the rain; it grew and became Veilfire. It gave off an otherworldly warmth – not one she could feel on her skin, but one that comforted her very soul. The sight did something strange to her, made her feel stronger and more confident. Less empty.

 _You must go_  – the voice insisted. Her heart clenched. She wasn't alone, after all. She had never been alone. This part of her had been beside her all this time, calling for her acceptance. Arianwen stood and turned towards the growing rift. She watched it expand, watched the Pride demon throw out its arms and roar at the sky, and knew that there was no other course that she could take. Her blades were her weapons, her magic was her support, and the Pride demon's heart their destination. She gathered mana in her marked hand, feeling power spread upwards to flush each and every swirl and dip on her skin. This time when she Fadestepped, she did not miscalculate.

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Solas blinked water out of his eyes as he focused on casting a Firestorm aimed at the heart of the rift. The ground shuddered when the Pride demon behind him roared, and he cursed as he was forced to stop in order to stay on his feet. He heard the thunder only a split second before he had to Fadestep away to avoid a sphere of energy aimed in his direction. As he appeared on the other side of the field, he saw the Pride demon's lightning whip cleave straight through the house he'd been hiding behind. The creature turned to him and laughed, each sound reverberating through Solas's core.

But through the adrenaline, through the thoughts of survival, and through the heat of battle, Solas could still only truly concentrate on one thing: Arianwen. Where was she? He'd passed the tower earlier, and it had been empty. Had she fallen somewhere along the way? He didn't want to think of it, but could do nothing else. It was destroying his ability to focus on his casting, and it was putting him at risk. But what choice did he have? For all he knew, each moment that he spent here could be a moment that he spent in a failure to safeguard the artifact.

_The girl or the orb – which is it?_

His logic demanded to know, but he had no answer to give. Right now, he just knew that he had to save them both. A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The top of the watchtower was ablaze with what he recognized as Veilfire. Hope – fragile and puerile – dared to quicken in his heart. Veilfire didn't just appear out of thin air. It had to be summoned. That could only lead to one explanation. Arianwen had made it!

 _No_  – his logic argued.  _The rift has weakened the Veil here. It could be just a coincidence._

Or it could be  _her_.

The possibility was so distracting that the Pride demon nearly managed to wrap its claws around him before Solas came to his senses and Fadestepped out of the way. As he did so, he summoned a deluge of ice and pierced through the creature's core. He reappeared in another place on the field, and smirked when the demon howled in rage and agony. The rift cracked and shuddered; from within, another Pride demon began to claw its way out. Solas cursed, already thinking of solutions to this steadily growing disaster. He tested his reserves; the orb had given him an edge, but would it be enough? If he tried to summon two Firestorms on top of each other, perhaps he could damage the demons enough to send them back through the tear. It was a risk. His strength would be depleted, and he would be helpless for a time.

 _I need her._ _**I need what she carries.** _ _The girl, or the orb?_ _**Which do I want to save?** _ _I cannot allow the orb to fade away, but I can't lose her. So many demons._ _**Was she hurt?** _ _Was that her Veilfire in the tower?_ _**Her skin was so soft. I want to touch her face, her hair, her lips.** _

Solas balked, unused to hearing his own thoughts phrased with such clarity. Not sure where the stream of words and feelings stemmed from, he summoned a barrier around his mind. Was this an attack by the demons? Were they trying to trick him, to trap him? But when he observed their behavior, he saw that the Pride demons weren't looking at him. Instead, they charged towards what looked like the figure of a young human. The boy stood in front of both of them – unafraid of the monsters barreling in his direction – but his eyes were fixated on Solas.

 _Just like her, you want to help._ _**She has so many hurts.** _ _You do, too. You raise your arms to fight._ _**A sun rising in the West.** _ _Futile, it seems. Nonsense._ _**So much hurt when all you want is to live** _ _. You desire her, but your coveting will destroy her._ _**Where she wants to help all life, you just want to help a part of it.** _

The demons were nearly on top of him now, but the boy didn't move a muscle. Solas reached out, knowing the inevitable outcome, but rebelling against it nonetheless. Yet, just as the demons threw themselves at him with claws and lightning, the boy disappeared. A howling reached his ears; something flew from the sky straight down at the demons and landed with an explosion of blue flame. The demons roared in outrage. Smoke rose up against the rain, obscuring the creatures. Solas lurched forward, running as close to the fray as he dared. With shock and disbelief, he watched the boy reappear on top of one of the Pride demons. Voiceless and silent, he unsheathed a pair of daggers, raised his arms, then slammed both of them into the creature's neck.

The demon shrieked and reached up to pry him off, but its claws hit nothing but air. The boy disappeared then reappeared in the same place, stabbing again and again until black blood gushed out of the creature's wounds and coated his arms and face. The smoke began to clear, and when Solas saw what stood beneath the Pride demons' colossal feet, he thought he would be sick again.

"Arianwen!" he called out, the name torn from him by hands of relief and terror for her safety. She looked at him, but he hardly recognized her. In the dim light of the overcast sky, her eyes glowed emerald. The mark had spread again, covering most of the right side of her body, visible even through the leather of her armor. The protective covering was soaked and torn ragged in places, but she seemed unhurt.

 _Solas_  – he heard her whisper.  _Solas._

Without waiting for anything else to go wrong, he Fadestepped to her, wrapped her in a tight grip, and Fadestepped again. He'd never attempted to do this while carrying someone else. The result was unpleasant. As they reached the end of the step, the magic rebelled and vomited both of them out in a violent bust of recoil. He tried to turn and take the brunt of the fall, wincing when something in his shoulder popped. For a while, they both lay prone. Solas felt Arianwen's warmth against his side, felt how her chest rose and fell with her breathing. Some of her hair had fallen to rest on his arm and neck. She didn't make a sound as she sat up to lean on her knees. Their eyes met, hers no longer glowing. A few impulses tore through him at once, none of which he gave into. Except one. His hands seized her arms; he shook her. Once. Then again. All the while, her expression remained neutral, almost dazed.

"Have you lost  _your mind_?" he growled at her. "What were you thinking, coming here on your own – "

"The rift must be sealed," she said. Her voice was calm – too calm. He looked at the markings then back at her impassive face. She was staring at the rift now as though mesmerized. Solas reached up and took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"What's happened to you?"

"The rift must be sealed. The Commander must be saved."

"He's  _dead_ , Arianwen," Solas growled. "You cannot possibly think to – " But she did. He felt the determination simmering within her eyes.

"I'm going inside the rift," she said. "I will draw the demons back from within and close it."

"And after?" he demanded. "You won't be able to leave!"

"I will. I understand now…" She trailed off, and he did not have the words to ask her what she meant. All of this was overwhelming. How could it have happened? Not only had a mortal stepped from the Fade, but a mortal had somehow merged with his artifact. For all he knew, she had the ability to do as she said. For all he knew, she could do as she liked with a simple gesture. And, for all he knew, she could have been driven mad by the surge of power. He wanted to stop her when she stood up, but his hand fumbled and missed. To stop her meant leaving Haven to its fate. Another sacrifice. He'd made so many in his lifetime. Was it now time to make more?

"Arianwen," he murmured.

"Come, Solas. It isn't safe here."

"What?"

"I will take you with me, and together we will save Haven and the Commander."

 _Why won't Solas understand?_ _**Why does he look at me with anger?** _ _The Lion is alone._ _**He must be afraid.** _ _I have to help him. I have to save him._ _**The Lion roars with endless courage, but now he is a prisoner of my mistake.** _ _I must do all I can to bring him back where he belongs. Even if I have to fight the darkness with nothing but this emerald light._

Solas shook his head to clear it of the voice. The ground trembled. Behind them, the Pride demons howled and roared as they writhed on the ground. The muscles in their legs were severed. Blood gushed out from countless wounds in black waterfalls. Both Arianwen and Solas started when the mysterious young man from earlier appeared next to them, covered head to toe in the same blood. Arianwen tilted her head to the side.

"Who are you?"

"I want to help, so I will let you remember," he said then pointed to the rift.

"Then come with us," Arianwen gestured. Solas stood up and leaned on his staff. His shoulder throbbed, but he ignored the pain. He grabbed at Arianwen's wrist and tried to pull her back. She stumbled a bit, but allowed him to pull her close.

"This is suicide," he insisted. The boy spoke again.

"Afraid to lose her. Afraid to see her fall – shattered, like a priceless vase. If only she knew what she meant. If only she knew what was inside of her. Skin so fragile. Heart so delicate. Soul so - "

"Stop it," Solas bit out, glaring at the boy. "You're the one responsible for that?" The human blinked at him without comprehension. Arianwen's cold hand brushed against his chest. When he glanced at her, she was smiling. The apathy had melted from her face, revealing the same guileless joy and affection he was used to seeing when they were together.

"All will be well," she promised. "I will protect you. You are not alone."


	8. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was really glad to hear from some new readers this last time. As always, I'm so thankful for everyone who takes the time to leave a comment/kudos/review and those who add me to follows, bookmarks, and favorites. This large project would not be possible without your encouragement and support!

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**Path of the Dreamwalker**

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**Chapter 8 - Whispers**

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When Cullen awakened, he was certain that he'd been flung into one of his lyrium-induced nightmares. His body felt light and numb. He opened his eyes with care, for as soon as he did a wave of dizziness and nausea paralyzed him. He lay still, panting amd wondering if this was another bout of Lyrium withdrawal. It couldn't be, though. He was certain that he hadn't been asleep. In fact, he could vaguely recall a battle. Regrettably, his memory was fragmented. In his mind's eye, he witnessed as Arianwen opened a rift in the middle of Haven. That's right. The rift. There hadn't been much time to make decisions. As the demons began to rip their way out of the tear, he knew that there were few choices to be made.

 _I stayed behind to let Leliana escape…_ he recalled. When the nausea abated, he opened his eyes further.

He was lying face first on wet grey rocks, but when he tried to sit up and examine his surroundings, the world tilted. Up became down; left became right. He gasped as weightlessness assailed him right before groaning as he was thrown against something solid. A splash. The ground, he realized. So what had that been before? Dazed, he looked up and saw that he was in the middle of an enormous black cave. Prior to this moment, he must have been plastered to the rocky ceiling. His temple throbbed, and when he brought up a hand to massage the ache, he noticed that he was sitting waist deep in filthy water. All around him, he saw swirls of oily residue. Something moved; he squinted to see its shape and cried out when he looked closer and saw claws reaching for him. Startled, he surged to his feet and stepped back until he was on dry land.

"Maker," he breathed, walking around the massive cavern. "What is this place?"

Cullen passed through knee-length foliage - blue and violet plants whose thorns caught at his leggings and snagged his robes. Vines stretched down from above, their dry and desiccated branches reminding him of bony fingers that grabbed at the ridges of his armor and tangled in his hair. As time passed, the temperature dropped. He shivered, watching in morbid fascination as the metal of his armor rusted then disintegrated into dust, leaving him with only cloth and leather to protect him. His greaves remained, at least, but he felt vulnerable. His sword and shield were also absent, a fact that made him sweat with dread.

Dark water dripped from the ceiling and down the walls - thick and viscous, like vile paste. In the ambient emerald light, it looked like demon blood or tar. As Cullen moved forward and around the cave, the liquid swirled; the walls shimmered. Sometimes, he thought he could see demonic hands reaching through the stone – their flesh corrupt and their claws razor sharp and coated in venom. On the ground, thick white fog slinked and slithered between the odd-looking plants. Like a predator, it seemed to stalk his steps. His ears picked up the sounds of whispers both distant and near. Were they coming from the fog? What were they saying? He strained to make out the words and instantly wished he hadn't.

 _Delicious...a mortal...what does it do here?_ _**Take it, tear its skin, eat its heart, devour its mind...** _ _Feed on its flesh, grind its bones, drink its blood!_

His sword. Maker, how he wished he had his sword! His skin felt cold and clammy, his gut wrenching as though someone was rummaging around inside it. He rushed to disentangle himself from the gripping plants, hurried to try and find somewhere where the fog wouldn't reach him. But it was futile. No matter how far he ran, it seemed that the cave was determined to trap him. The walls bent and twisted; the corridors wound and tangled together. The same pattern in the stone; the same swirls of blood; the same black and filthy lake. He'd passed them all a hundred times. The whispers intensified; the voices slid by his ear, then burrowed deep within and clawed through his mind.

 _Why does it run?_ _ **Don't run away from us.**_ _What does it desire?_ _ **What do you need?**_ _Let us see what you are inside._ _ **Let us dig deep into your soul.**_ _Deep inside._ _ **Into your heart and your mind.**_ _Your mind._ _ **War, suffering, magic, hatred, and there...**_ _so deep witihin_... _ **blue and shining, glowing liquid...**_ _tastes like metal, tastes like shame, tastes like_ _ **addiction.**_

The walls shimmered, shifting this time into the shape of the Chantry in Kirkwall. The plants disappeared, but the vines and black blood remained on the walls - dripping, crawling, leaking down between the cracks. The Chantry's colossal statue of Andraste rose up before him, the beautiful gold surface tarnished and rusted. The same dark liquid flowed down her face, tears made of tar. From the shadows, a pair of golden lions stalked towards him, their manes thick and shining and their eyes glowing red. With each step, he could hear them growling, could hear their claws scraping against the tile. They surrounded the statue and bared their fangs at him. And there, at Andraste's feet, stood a box he recognized too well, a blue glow glinting between the wooden cracks.

Lyrium.

His mind rebelled. A hunger and yearning crippled him, breaking his spine and forcing him to the ground. He fell to his knees, already feeling the pull begin, already knowing he was going to reach for it despite all of his self-loathing. The frigid tile burned into his exposed abdomen. His hand reached out, and he crawled. The lions looked on, and soon their bared fangs began to look like grins. As Cullen's fingers pressed against the lid of the box, the whispers came again, this time coming from the lions' open maws.

 _Consume it!_ _**All of it, like an obedient child.** _ _Not a Commander._ _**Take the power within and feel pleasure.** _ _Feel it in your bones._ _**Let us give you what you seek.** _ _Everything that you desire._ _**Let us ease your pain.** _ _Ease your suffering._ _**Take it. Drink it.** _ _Take it!_

"No!" Cullen shouted, practically ripping himself away from the box. He backed away, yet the moment he looked down, he saw that he was holding the accursed thing in his hands. He roared in fury and frustration, threw it across the room, and whirled around, only to come face to face with it again. The lions sat right in front of him now, one of them holding a paw over the container. The pulling, the tugging on his very soul, returned. He gasped for breath, his heart hammering in his throat. The lion bent its great head, its snout moving so close to Cullen's face that he could smell its rotting breath.

 _What is it afraid of?_ _**So afraid inside.** _ _Are you afraid that you will like it?_ _**Are you afraid?** _ _Fear is natural._ _**Do not fear power.** _ _It is what you desire, isn't it?_ _**Power.** _ _Strength._ _**We can give it to you.** _ _All to you._ _**See what it can help you do.** _

A sword appeared in his hand. Any relief he might have felt was staunched when smoke surrounded him, lifting him to his feet. He stopped shivering, felt warmer. His clothes changed, transformed from cloth into metal. He now wore his old Knight Commander's colors and insignia. Other figures appeared; other Templars. Then a girl – a Mage. He recognized her straight away as the girl he'd been infatuated with all those years ago in the Ferelden Circle. She knelt on the ground, her hands tied together and her face raised up to the Templars in supplication. Robes torn, tattered, and filthy, she looked like she'd spent time in the dungeons. Tears ran down her face as she pleaded with them.

"Please, don't do this! Don't make me Tranquil!"

"Knight Commander Cullen," one of the Templars addressed him. "The way you captured this Maleficar was commendable."

"What?" Cullen looked at the man with open-mouthed surprise. "I didn't…"

"You are also correct in your original assessment. This girl is an abomination and must be executed immediately to minimize risk and exposure to the rest of the circle."

"You're going to  _kill_  me? I'm  _not_  an abomination! I've never practiced blood magic! Please, stop this!" One of the Templars grabbed the girl by her hair and dragged her over – kicking and screaming – in front of Cullen. "Stop! Please! Why are you doing this? I haven't done anything wrong!" He threw her forward, stepping on her back with his foot. All the while, the lions stalked around them, whispering.

 _Raise your blade, Commander._ _**Raise it high.** _ _Execute this girl and demonstrate your power._ _**Show them all that you will not be questioned.** _ _Never questioned._ _**Sever her head from her scrawny little neck.** _ _Stain your sword with her blood._ _**You know you want to.** _

Cullen struggled to tune out the voices, but couldn't. He clawed and tore at his mind,  _willing_ himself to regain control of his own body. But, in the end, he saw himself raising his sword. The terror in the girl's eyes made him sick. He pulled and yanked on his muscles, but no matter what he did, his body resisted. The whispers guided him, making promises of glory and vengeance. He saw his reflection in the statue of Andraste. His eyes glowed a dull red, and his face – his face sported the most sadistic and satisfied smile he'd ever seen. That man was a stranger, yet he couldn't deny the resemblance.

"I will spill her blood in the name of the Maker." His lips moved, formed the syllables, but there was no will behind the words. He couldn't control himself, but he didn't stop fighting. Cullen railed against the bars of his invisible cage, beating on them until his fists felt raw. "Mages are all abominations and must be purged." His voice sounded hollow – no emotion, just mindless obedience. Just as he began to swing downwards, the girl's face changed. Amber eyes lightened to gold. Hair darkened. No. No. No. No! His mouth opened on a silent scream as he swung the blade with all his strength, the edge slicing through Arianwen's neck. A crack as metal severed bone. Her head rolled away, blood spurting onto shining polished tile. The lions purred.

 _See how powerful you are._ _**You have killed the Herald of Andraste.** _ _Her blood is on your hands._ _**Witness the might of the Commander of the Inquisition.** _ _You are at the heart of it all._ _**No one else will have your glory.** _ _No one else can match you in prowess on the field._ _**You are strongest when you drink it.** _ _Strongest with the Lyrium._ _**But it isn't over.** _ _Not yet._

Something moved beneath him and he looked down in horror to see his hands wrapped around someone's throat. They were struggling, clawing at his armor, clamoring to get free. He looked up. His reflection caught his attention once more. Cullen could barely recognize his own face at all anymore. Twisted, dark, evil, cruel. His eyes glowed an even deeper red; his skin was a sickly white. Massive black circles hovered under his eyes. The same smile played on his lips - evil, full of sadistic pleasure at the thought of killing.

"Cullen..." the person beneath him choked. "Cu...llen...plea...se..." It was his sister - Mia. This was the first time he'd seen her in years. She sputtered and flailed, her legs trying to kick him off and her fingers attempting to pry open his death grip. Then her face changed and she became the tawny-eyed Mage from the Ferelden circle. Blood seeped from beneath his fingers. Red tears ran down her face, blood filling her eyes. He screamed and screamed inside, but he couldn't stop himself from hurting her. His veins felt like they'd caught fire; his muscles jerked and pulled taught. The lions chortled with dark mirth.

 _This is what you are._ _**Templar. Murderer.** _ _This is what you will always be._ _**Give into it. Let the pleasure of her death fill you.** _ _It's what you want, isn't it?_ _**Mages should be caged.** _ _Should be purged._ _**The Maker demands it!** _

Then the Mage's features unraveled and changed. Her hair grew out and turned an inky black, eyes shimmering and becoming an intense gold. Her pupils elongated, trapping him in an intense cat-like gaze. The hands that fought him stilled, the fingers loosening. Green swirls and markings burned up one of her arms, covering one side of a chiseled elven face. The blood disappeared, drawn back into her body as though sucked up through a vacuum.

"Arianwen," he gasped. The lions hissed and growled, their hackles rising. They whipped around and tried to attack, their claws glinting in the faint light, but something stopped them. A barrier.

"This isn't real," she said clearly despite the fact that he was crushing her throat. She didn't look frightened or disturbed - just calm and serene as always. Her marked arm moved, her palm pressed against his face. Her skin felt cool and pleasant. "You must fight against it, Commander."

"I _can't_ ," he rasped, his entire body shuddering as he willed himself to let her go.

"Yes, you can," she promised. "You are the Lion." Her other hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart. "You are courageous and strong. You have a pure and kind heart."

 _It lies to you._ _**Your hands are poised to kill.** _ _Kill her. Wring her neck._ _**You are a Templar.** _ _She is your enemy._ _**Kill it!** _

"Look at what I'm doing!" he shouted, his grip tightening against his will. "I'm killing you!"

"It's alright," she murmured. Her lips curved into a smile. "I'll protect you." The lions clawed against the barrier, but it held, the magic strong and solid. As their desperation grew, he saw their flesh melt from their bones. Skin peeled off, revealing rotting meat and sinew beneath. The stench of death surrounded them.

 _She cannot protect you from us!_ _**Lies, deceit, falsehoods! She is tricking you!** _ _Tricking you for her own ends._ _**The vial. Drink from the vial!** _ _Drink it all until you drown._

"It's alright to be afraid," Arianwen said, keeping his attention on her. "Fear doesn't make you who you are."

 _**She doesn't know anything!** _ _How can she?_ _**No memories, no past, and no future.** _ _An empty shell. Hollow like_ _**a broken doll.** _ _False Herald! False prophet! False! False!_ _**FALSE!** _

"What am I without Lyrium?" Cullen shook his head, wincing at the volume of the voices. "I am nothing without the Order. Just a man. A mortal man."

"I know who you are," she insisted. When he would have shut his eyes, she urged him to open them and look at her. Even in this place, even with black bruises forming around her neck, and even with markings tattooing so much of her skin, she was beautiful. She shone with her own light, a blaze that soothed the terror in his heart.

"Who am I?" he rasped. There it was again – that blinding determination in her eyes. So intense and bright, almost painful to look at directly. The lions screeched and stopped clawing at the barrier, backing away.

"You are safety. You are a man who has saved me. You are the sort of person who would sacrifice himself for others. I have seen it, and that is why I will  _not_  allow these creatures to take you." Suddenly, the chains around him loosened. He fell back, relieved to see Arianwen sit up. As she got to her feet, her clothes changed from Circle robes to the Grey Warden armor he'd seen her wearing the first time she stepped from the rift. She looked uninjured and unharmed. The bruises on her neck disappeared. Thank the Maker. Her eyes blazed with a fire he'd never seen before - an anger he didn't think her capable of.

She turned to face the hissing lions, drawing a pair of daggers from the belt on her hips. The hilts were shaped like Griffon talons, just like the ones in the dream he saw of her. Crouching down, she shifted into a low slinking stance, circling the beasts with confidence and trepidation. The pair of lions roared and charged at her, their voices so piercing now that Cullen thought his ear drums may rupture. The intent in their words immobilized him, yet Arianwen seemed immune. As soon as one was close enough, she slashed out with one of her daggers, twirling in a graceful arc. The blade slipped between the monster's ribs. The moment it made contact, Arianwen bent to one knee and drove the dagger home, right into the creature's heart. It sagged, nearly crushing her beneath its weight. She managed to slip out from under it just in time, but the second lion was already on a war path.

 _Give him to us!_ _**To us** _ _. We will not allow such a delicious soul to escape!_ _**Escape.** _ _Give us the body._ _**A strong warrior's body.** _ _We want to claim it._ _**Become it.** _

The second lion changed its course. Instead of aiming for Arianwen, it roared and barreled towards him. Cullen picked up his discarded sword from the ground and prepared to take the blow. Just as the lion threw itself on top of him, he supported the sharp end of the blade with his free hand and blocked its massive paw from raking him across the chest. The lion clamped the weapon between its jaws, thick acidic saliva dripping down to the hilt. A crack. A beat of silence. His sword shattered. Cullen fell back, grunting as the creature's weight knocked all the air out of his lungs. Claws raked down his chest, drawing welts of blood.

A battle cry rang out, reverberating off the high ceiling and tiled walls of the Chantry. From his position beneath the demon, Cullen saw Arianwen flying through the air. Her blades glowed a molten orange. She flipped then landed right on top of the lion, burrowing her daggers deep into its shoulders. The beast hissed and instinctively retaliated, attempting to pry her off its back. Arianwen, undaunted, stabbed again and pulled, slicing into the monster's spine and severing the nerves there. It shrieked in pain and – at last – toppled sideways and slipped off of Cullen's chest.

The whispers ceased, fading away as though they'd never existed. The pounding headache in his temples waned, and Cullen sighed with relief, finally able to breathe normally again. He watched Arianwen light her daggers on fire, the spell evaporating all of the blood there. She walked to him and offered her hand to help him stand. Cullen couldn't help but inspect the way the glowing green marks flared against her skin. It seemed that they glowed brighter after the battle.

"Arianwen, those markings..."

"This place is bad," she said. "It is the Fade, but it is also a reflection of your thoughts."

"We're in the Fade?" he asked, his eyes widening. "Physically? How is this possible?"

"It doesn't matter. Right now, we need to escape."

"How?"

"The only way is through our thoughts. We must create an exit before the demons take us."

"So those  _were_  demons."

"Despair and Envy – a most dangerous combination," she nodded.

"You seem different here," he noted.

"Being here clears my mind," she explained. "I feel…I remember things." She motioned for him to follow her down a darkened hallway. On the way, he pulled a sword and shield from the wall. Decorative they might be, but he refused to allow Arianwen to fight all his battles. Next time, they would fight side by side. 

"You remember your past?" He nodded towards her armor. "That is Grey Warden regalia."

"It is…and yes, some of it. I remember the Joining, and I remember fighting the Archdemon."

"Do you recall anything about the Breach?" They paused at a fork in the hall. 

"Commander… "

"Cullen," he stopped her. "I – that is – after all this mess, perhaps you should call me that instead." She tilted her head to the side.

"I thought it was polite to call you by your title, Commander."

"Cullen," he insisted, suddenly unable to directly meet her gaze. Why was he squirming like a boy wet behind the ears? It was just his name.

"Cullen," she repeated, testing it. He looked away from her, stepping around her and moving into the shadows so she wouldn't see the flush tinging his cheeks. Ridiculous. This was  _not_ the place or time for such foolish behavior. Still, he couldn't help but admire this woman and the strength she wielded both in body and character. While she called him by his title, she felt more distant. This way, perhaps…

"You said you fought the Archdemon. Was this with the last Blight ten years ago? With the Hero of Ferelden?" She turned to him, her eyes growing cold and unreadable.

"Cullen, the truth is – " A growling echoing in the corridor stopped her mid-sentence. Arianwen bent her knees and raised her daggers. Cullen lifted his shield and prepared to defend her. From the darkness, voices whispered once more. Different this time, but speaking in the same pattern as the demons in the Chantry hall.

 _Arianwen..._ they called.  _ **Arianwen...**_

"Don't listen to them," she warned him. "We have to keep moving." Was he imagining it, or could he hear a certain degree of nervousness in her voice? She picked up the pace, urging him to move through the corridors at a near run.

 _Arianwen of the Skies…Arianwen_ _**, Dreamwalker…** _

Cullen felt his shoulders stiffen. Dreamwalker? That was the phrase he'd heard in his hallucinations at the Breach. He wanted to ask the girl what it meant, but she was moving so quickly that he didn't have a chance.

 _Come, little Grey Warden._ _**Fighter of the Blight.** _ _Conquerer of Urthemiel._ _**Slayer of a thousand lives.** _ _Devourer of a thousand souls._ _**Blood is on your hands, little elf.** _ _Innocent blood._ _**Shall we help you remember?** _ _You have hidden their names away deep inside your heart._ _**In your darkest nightmares.** _ _But we know the truth._

"Ignore them," she told him through gritted teeth. He wondered if she was speaking to herself or warning him. When they approached what appeared to be the corridor exit, the walls changed once more. Not a Chantry this time, nor a cave. Instead, stone rose up and molded into statues of Dwarven paragons. Gold and precious metals coated elaborate carvings in the walls. The ceiling grew - up and up - until Cullen could barely make out where the top was. Before them stretched a crumbling bridge positioned over a black and void-like chasm. Bodies littered the stone - creatures he recognized as Darkspawn.

"Is this…Orzamar?" Cullen wondered. He'd seen a few paintings of a similar place, but had never been there himself. Arianwen turned and grabbed his hand, urging him to cross the bridge. "This doesn't look stable," he warned. The girl said nothing, simply continued pulling him along. The whispers were relentless.

 _You think you can ignore the truth?_ _**How many deals have you made already?** _ _How many sacrifices?_

Arianwen's grip tightened on his hand until it was almost painful.

 _**The mortal with you is strong of mind and body, but you** _ _– having you would be so much more satisfying._ _**You, who have crushed Urthemiel and cheated death so many times.** _ _You, who have walked the Fade in Uthenera._ _**You, who pulls the strings of –** _

"Silence!" Arianwen commanded, her eyes flashing. "Your words are nothing but lies and trickery." She let go of his hand to allow him more freedom of movement. Crumbling rocks and cracks forced them to jump around various obstacles. Arianwen shook her head and bit her lip. Cullen could only imagine the pain she felt. If it was anything like what he'd experienced before, she had to be in agony. He couldn't miss the way her demeanor was changing. Confidence was draining out of her to be replaced by anger and fear.

 _You do not wish him to know?_ _**You think he would abandon you?** _ _So many have, after all._ _**We can make him stay, if you wish it.** _ _Make him stay by your side forever._ _**Tell us what you desire, little Warden.** _ _Or do thoughts of another occupy your heart?_ _**We can bring him to you.** _ _Fill his body with taint._ _**Bring him to your side.** _

They stepped around dead Darkspawn and were half way across the bridge when the girl halted. "This is _my_ nightmare," she confessed. "No matter what happens, you  _must_  keep moving." She looked uncertain. "If I should falter…"

"This isn't real, Arianwen," he reminded her, bracing her shoulders with his hands. She looked at him with wide eyes.

"Cullen…" His grip tightened on her shoulders and he pulled her against his chest, hiding her behind his shield and wishing he could give her strength. In a moment of vulnerability, she leaned into him. "I don't know if I…" Then the weakness was gone. When she looked at him again, her eyes were hard and unyielding. "You have to keep moving…"

"I will  _not_  leave you here," he swore. "Just as you did for me, I will  _not_  let this horror take you." She wasn't looking at him anymore, however. Her eyes were fixated on the darkness past the bridge.

 _These are the Deep Roads, little elf._ _**Surely you have not forgotten.** _ _You will die here._ _**Die like a pathetic dog.** _ _Remember this place._ _**The blood, the cold, the chill down your spine.** _ _Remember who was with you._ _**Tell us w** _ _**ho was it.** _ _Ah, yes…_

"No," she whimpered. The fire in her eyes flickered and faded. Her body went limp, the daggers almost falling from her hands. She turned around as though possessed, color slowly draining from her face. "Please, no…" Cullen narrowed his eyes to make out a shape that was crossing the bridge. Warden armor, torn and battered just like Arianwen's. Silver eyes came into view followed by shoulder-length hair that was a shade darker than his own. It was a man, his face familiar yet foreign. He was young, no older than twenty. Arianwen stumbled towards him, her shoulders slumping. He'd never seen her look so shaken, so disturbed.

"Wait," he called, but when he tried to stop her, a force held him back. Invisible ropes tugged him away from her. The whispers intensified.

 _You know his name, Arianwen._ _**You've cried for him in your dreams.** _ _Remember how he held you, how he promised that he would not let you die alone._ _**And yet you left him!** _ _Made him forget._ _**Forget everything.** _ _How cruel, little Warden._

"Stop it!" she shouted, covering her ears. Her progress halted. "This isn't real!  _He_  isn't real!"

 _But he is._ _**He is.** _ _As real as the way your heart is breaking._ _**Bleeding onto the ground.** _ _Now do you remember?_ _**Remember how you crushed it all into dust.** _

A ghostly shape rushed past Cullen, a blur of light blue and grey. The figure passed straight through Arianwen, and she gasped, clutching at her chest. It wasn't until it was some distance away that Cullen recognized it.

"Is that…?"

"Me…" she whispered. The ghostly elf ran towards the silver-eyed youth and jumped into his arms, smiling with such blinding joy that Cullen had to lower his gaze.

" _Arian,"_ the young man groaned. His voice echoed off the walls, sounding distorted. " _Thank the Maker! When we were separated, I thought for sure that…"_ He choked on his words, some strong emotion preventing him from saying more.

" _ **I'm alright,**_ _"_ the ghostly elf said, Arianwen's real voice joining hers, overlapping it. She stepped towards the couple, her gait unsteady, and wrapped her arms around the man. Her figure merged with the ethereal version of herself completely, and she looked up into his eyes. The happiness on her face withered, replaced by a bitter pain.

"Why are you here?" she frowned. "I was to be here alone...to die alone..." 

" _We shouldn't linger,"_  the young man warned as though he didn't hear her.  _"There's more Darkspawn coming down the pass. We need to make it to the next Thaig before they reach us."_

"I know your name," Arianwen whispered. "I've always known it." The youth smiled and mussed her hair, the action one of practiced intimacy.

" _Well of course you do, sweetheart. I'd be upset if the love of my life forgot it."_ He patted the crown of her hair.  _"You didn't hit your head, did you? You can be pretty clumsy sometimes."_ He raised a brow in question when she didn't say anything.  _"Bad joke? Too soon? Am I losing my touch?"_ Cullen could see tears glistening in her eyes. When she looked away, the young man bent his knees, knelt before her, and caught her gaze. " _Please don't say I am because I'm not certain how else I'll be able to keep you by my side if I'm deprived of my one-liners – witty or not."_

She sobbed, her face crumpling and her eyes glistening with tears. Her lips moved, whispered a name Cullen couldn't quite make out. The word was like a maul that blasted through a flood gate. It sounded as though she'd been waiting to say it for eons. Cullen could see her distress as though he could see straight into her heart, just as he could tell that she'd given into the illusion. Some sort of block was finally removed; some form of resistance gave way. The youth looked taken aback.

" _What's this? Tears? From the great and mighty slayer of Darkspawn?"_

"Alistair…" she cried out in a trembling voice. "Creators take me. How could I have done it? How could I have forgotten you?" Arianwen hugged him tighter, falling to her knees beside him and pressing her cheek against his breastplate.

" _Don't cry, Arian. It's alright. I'm alive, you see? Unharmed, just as I promised."_ Alistair brushed hair out of her face and tilted up her chin, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. Cullen couldn't move. A strange feeling kept him rooted to the spot – the knowledge that this memory was private and that he shouldn't be a witness to it. The way this man looked at Arianwen made him uncomfortable. The color of his eyes should have been intense, but when they looked upon the girl, they were soft and full of warmth. The way he took care not to scratch her cheek with his gauntlet, the gentleness of the hand that cradled her back, the love that radiated from his smile – it all made him feel like an intruder. Heat crept up his neck and he stepped back. Suddenly, the youth looked up at him.

 _That's it, Templar_ \- a voice hissed in his mind.  _ **Back away**_ _. She is ours, and you have no hold on her any longer._ The image of the young man wavered, replaced for a moment by a demon he didn't recognize. Gritting his teeth, Cullen pressed his shield against the barrier in front of him.

"Arianwen! Come to your senses!" he called, fighting to move towards her now. He paused when he heard the girl cry out in distress, watching in shock as Alistair fell forward and collapsed – lifeless – in her arms, an ugly black arrow embedded between his shoulder blades. Arianwen mumbled and murmured a series of what sounded like denials in elven. Her breathing accelerated until she was hyperventilating. She was distraught; mindless with disbelief; he'd never witnessed her display such a range of emotion, and the sight disturbed him. He watched as she bent over the youth's dead body, her fingernails running over the plates of his armor, scraping against metal as she clutched at him like a lifeline. Her hands trembled as she shook him.

"This isn't real…This isn't real…Wake up…Alistair…Alistair!" Then she tilted her head back and wailed. Cullen flinched. The sound pierced right through him. It was like watching a wounded animal screaming in the throes of death. Her voice was saturated with grief and regret, sorrow and anguish. What in the world had happened to her? What could have caused her such misery? Losing her loved one? He inspected the young man's face, doubts riding in on the coattails of theories. Alistair, she'd called him. Surely this couldn't be Alistair Theirin – the King of Ferelden. That man was still alive. He'd only seen the King in person once, many years ago. That time was a blur. He'd still been a Templar in the Circle. However, he'd heard stories of his travels during the Blight – how he'd helped the Hero of Ferelden, Elissa Cousland, in her battle against the Archdemon. So where did Arianwen come into play? Were they lovers?

"You must help her," a voice murmured beside him. He gasped, thinking it was another demon, but when he turned around he saw something else. Another version of Arianwen, but ethereal – glowing a faint green and holding what looked like some sort of sphere. The markings on her skin were the same as the elf's but brighter, clearer. "You must help her or you will never leave this place."

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Who are  _you_?" she asked cryptically in return. "Here, we are who the Fade makes us."

_I am what you make me…_

The Breach. The rift. The explosion. A woman made of light. The memory hit him with such force that he had to shift his weight to regain his balance. He recalled the battle at the Breach, the glowing figure he'd seen in the rift just before Arianwen had appeared. She'd said something very similar then. And just now, the demonic voices had called her a Dreamwalker. Could this be…? The ghostly creature glanced at him, her eyes unreadable.

"I don't understand," Cullen protested. "What are you? Is any of this real? Which of you is Arianwen?"

"None of us, and all of us. We are severed, torn apart from one another by the explosion at the Breach."

"Severed?"

"We cannot continue as we are. We must merge into one body if we hope to live. That is why I've come."

"To live?" He urged the spirit to explain. "What does that mean?"

"It means that our body will die without our spirit, yet if we merge, all of that sadness and pain," she pointed to the sobbing Arianwen with a transparent finger, "…will be remembered, and our mind may not be able to withstand it." Cullen looked at the tangible Arianwen and frowned. She was rocking back and forth over the young man's body, her hair falling forward and covering her face. Her shoulders shook with each sob. Such small and fragile shoulders. What sort of burden was on them? Lost love? Mistakes made that could never be fixed? He'd had more than enough of that himself.

"You can't keep the memories locked away?" he heard himself ask.

"You would have her go on as she is? Empty? Hollow?"

"She  _isn't_  empty," his eyes snapped to the spirit. The ghost regarded him for a moment, then smiled.

"Perhaps you are right. In that case," she moved forward.

"Where are you going?"

"I will try to suppress what I can," she answered. "The block won't last long, but perhaps by the time she remembers, things will have changed."

"What are you?" he asked again. No answer was forthcoming. The whispers returned as soon as she glided away from him, but he tuned them out. Doing so seemed easier with this spirit here. Cullen watched as the ghost leaned over Arianwen whispered something in her ear. The girl shook her head and hugged the young man's body tighter, still sobbing. The spirit's features molded into an expression of sorrow. She glided back behind the girl and pressed the glowing sphere against her back. Arianwen gasped and arched forward, almost as though the thing was hurting her. Slowly, the orb began to sink into her body, pulsing with light. The ghost turned to look at Cullen one more time.

"Protect her, so that she will not be broken again." And with that, she faded into nothingness. Arianwen's grip loosened and the young man rolled from her arms. She wavered for a moment before tilting sideways and collapsing to the ground. Cullen stumbled when the barrier before him shattered. He'd been pushing against it with relentless force. Regaining his balance, he rushed over to the girl and knelt beside her.

"Arianwen, can you hear me?" Her eyes fluttered open. She looked disoriented.

"Alistair?" she called, reaching up and brushing the side of his face. Cullen felt like he'd been burned, though he didn't understand why. Her confusion was logical; the prickle in his chest wasn't. Perhaps the soft look in her eyes was responsible, the same look the youth had given her during their embrace. That look was meant for someone else. Once again, he felt entirely out of place.

"No, it's me," he corrected, his voice tense. She blinked a few times. The change in her expression was palpable. Confusion to awareness; awareness to determination. Recognition was slower to arrive, but when it did, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Cullen?"

"Yes."

"What happened?" He helped her sit up. "There were demons and voices, then everything went dark." She glanced around then wiped at the tears on her face with a frown. "Have I been crying?" Cullen's heart skipped a beat when she looked at the prone young man next to her. He lay on his stomach, his face hidden. Every second in silence seemed to drag on forever. He expected her see her grief return, expected for her to shout and yell for the youth to wake up. None of that happened.

"Who is this?" she asked without a trace of emotion. So, the spirit had kept its word. For now, it seemed, Arianwen remembered nothing of her past. She touched the figure's shoulder then flinched and moved back. Cullen held his breath. Did she recognize him after all?

_You must help her…_

"We should keep moving," Cullen suggested, tugging her away from the young man's body.

"Yes, but…"

"Will our surroundings change again?"  _That_  seemed to catch her attention. She turned away from the youth and examined the bridge, then gasped and grabbed at his arm. "What is it?"

"We have to get out of here. How long have we been here?"

"It's difficult to say." He helped steady her as she got to her feet.

"We need to find an exit immediately." She raised her arms; the mark on her palm flared to life. At last, she looked like herself again. "Solas was with me. And a boy. We need to find them and close this rift."

"Rift?" he gasped. "We're in a rift?"

"Yes. I came here to take you back to Haven." Arianwen glanced at him and gave him a reassuring nod.  _This_  was the Arianwen he recognized, the one whose courage impressed him and made his eyes linger on her more frequently than they should. The other girl he'd seen – the broken woman with a heavy burden on her shoulders – was alien. He couldn't imagine that they could be the same person.

"Solas was with you?" he asked, attempting to keep his thoughts focused on the task at hand.

"Don't worry, Cullen. We will all make it out safely." That said, she aimed her palm in front of her. The shadows parted, revealing yet another corridor. She offered him her hand, and when he clasped it, he could practically feel the radiance and energy thrumming through their physical connection.

 _She isn't empty –_ he'd told the spirit.

No. She wasn't. Not at all.

* * *

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 _Solas_.

He heard her calling to him on the wind. Here in the Fade, the surroundings changed all the time, moved along by an eternal and restless breeze. For the moment, he and the strange blue-eyed boy stood in what once was the center of Haven. Ghostly shapes milled around, figures that whispered among themselves of worshiping the reincarnation of Andraste. Only it wasn't the figure depicted in Chantry lore. This was a high dragon that had built its nest in the vicinity. Solas watched these villagers with disgust, watched how they were misled and misguided simply by giving into ignorance and poor judgement. It reminded him of darker things - notions that he rarely allowed himself to dwell on.

As he observed the humans going about their rituals - even going so far as sacrificing animals and people - he thought of Arianwen. She'd left them here, explaining that she needed to find the Commander and that they would be safe if they just waited for her in this pocket of the Fade. A barrier shimmered around them – her doing. How she suddenly knew so much about this place baffled him. The moment they'd stepped through the rift, her demeanor had changed drastically. She transformed from an innocent who knew nothing to a calculating leader who was comfortable with giving directions and expected them to be followed. The change wasn't exactly unpleasant, but Solas did wonder where it stemmed from. Could it be the influence of the orb? He'd expected to encounter the ghostly Arianwen he'd seen before, but so far he and the boy had been alone. No one had disturbed them, neither spirits nor demons. That worried him.

 _Solas –_ her voice lilted, brushing pleasantly against his thoughts. How could he hear her so well? How could she reach him whilst he could not reciprocate the gesture? What sort of powers did she possess? There was so much about her that he didn't understand, probably would _never_ understand. The thought both excited and frightened him.

 _Arianwen, where are you?_ – he answered, desperate to hear her reply despite knowing that she couldn't hear him. Before leaving, she'd seemed so confident in her abilities, saying that she wouldn't be gone long. So much time had passed, however. Time couldn't be quantified in this realm, but he'd been here often enough to understand that she'd been gone far longer than could be expected. He began to worry that something had gone wrong. This was the Fade, a place as unpredictable as a hurricane. What if a demon had gotten hold of her mind? Could she resist its wiles? Could she avoid temptation? Mages trained for years to attain that ability. Had she had similar training? Could he count on her to miraculously remember it when the time came for her to use it?

"Nails grating on wood. Heart clenching. Stomach protesting. Where is she? Where could she have gone? All to find the Commander. Sacrificing yet again…"

"Stop that," Solas snapped at the boy next to him. Blue eyes blinked at him from under a wide-brimmed hat. The youth brushed some hair out of his face, the unruly golden locks flailing in the wind.

"You don't have to be afraid," he answered. "There is no one here to hear…" Solas took a deep breath, unhappy that he was allowing himself to be so unnerved. Losing his head and composure would help no one, especially Arianwen.

"What are you?" Solas inquired to take his mind off his restlessness. "Why are you so eager to assist us?"

"I am Cole," the boy said, as though that would explain everything. "I want to help. The people in Haven are afraid, and fear hurts. The elf – the one they call Herald – she is full of hurt, too. But she wants to help, and so I want to help her." Solas frowned.

"Are you human or some kind of…spirit?"

"I am not a demon," Cole replied.

"I did not suggest you were. I merely wish to understand – "

"Safety. Warmth. Confidence. Shield over sword. Magic over blade. She is happy, content, powerful." Cole stood up from his perch on top of a bit of rubble, his eyes going glassy as he looked at the sky. A ray of hope made Solas follow him.

"Can you hear her? Is she close?"

"Searching for us. Remembering us. Moving through the Fade." Cole's voice grew more excited. "Through fog and water; through lightning and nightmares. The burden has lifted. The hurt is less now. The heart is fuller. Guilt is gone. Responsibility fulfilled. Spirit no longer severed. A part of it now – the orb, the sphere, the artifact."

"What did you say?" Solas's jaw clenched. He needed to be careful, to guard his words. It would be a disaster if the artifact was somehow traced back to him. Better everyone think that Arianwen possessed some sort of divine power than knowing the truth. At least, for now.

"Secrets have a cost," Cole mumbled.

"A price I am willing to pay," Solas replied.

"Protecting. Stronger. Yearning for her strength. He looks at her, knowing she will not look back. Waiting for her word. For her look. Remembers her warmth against his chest. Fearing for her."

"Are they close?" Solas urged.

"Very," Cole said, and right at that moment, the air  _popped_ , a tear appearing before them. Arianwen and Cullen stepped out, looking battered and dirty but otherwise unharmed. 

"Arianwen," he called, thrilling when she smiled at him. "You've returned." 

"Solas," she grinned, likely noticing the frantic tone in his voice. "Did you doubt that I would? You've underestimated me, _Hahren_." It took him a moment to realize that she was jesting. For reasons he couldn't explain, Solas felt the tips of his ears burn. "I'm glad you two are alright."

"Are  _you_  alright?" he countered. "The marks…" They weren't bleeding. In fact, whatever injuries she had before looked to be healed. A wave of relief washed over him. Perhaps what he'd seen in the Fade before wasn't entirely accurate. Perhaps he hadn't hurt her after all when he touched the orb.

"I am, thanks to Cullen." He jerked when she called the Commander by his name. His eyes narrowed. Something had changed in the dynamic between them. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but he wasn't sure he approved. She looked between him and Cole, oblivious to his tension. "I'm going to close the rift now. Stand close and hold onto me." Solas frowned when the Commander put his hand on her shoulder and asked:

"Are you sure about this?" She nodded. Cole padded over to her and looked her up and down.

"What should I hold onto?" Arianwen held out her unmarked hand; Cole took it with some hesitation. His shoulders relaxed. "You won't let go. You don't know who I am, but you don't think I'm bad." She squeezed the boy's hand then turned to Solas.

"Come," she smiled. "I think I can open a path not far from Haven." Solas walked to her, stepping around the Commander, and placed a hand on her waist. "Ready?" All three of them gestured that they were. Raising her palm in the air, she took a deep breath, then pulled. The marks on her skin glowed as bright as the sun. Chains burst forth from her hand, their ends tipped with claws that stretched out and pulled open a crackling seam in mid-air.

"Don't let go," she reminded them right as they were pulled inside.


	9. Growing Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to all of my wonderful readers! Thank you for your support :)

 

 

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During his travels and his time in Kirkwall, Varric saw plenty of merchants selling cages full of exotic beasts. Nobles and collectors loved showing off their extra coin by purchasing them, and both pirates and mercenaries didn't hesitate to take advantage to turn a quick profit. He remembered feeling sorry for the pathetic creatures as he passed them in the Docks or the Marketplace. They were often malnourished, poorly tended, and miserable. Seeing them soured his mood and made even someone of his jaded caliber think twice about the worth of a sovereign. No matter how lovely they might have been in the wilderness, within those cages they all became faceless lumps of flesh. In this way, they were a lot like men and elves sold into slavery. Beat and starve something enough, and it would submit.

But once – just once – one of these animals proved him wrong.

A group of pirates had captured a mighty lioness with tawny fur and blazing golden eyes. Even after a voyage in a crate too small for her to move in, her spirit remained unbroken. Even after days of starvation, her strength didn't falter. She fought and clawed at her captors, and no muzzle, whip, or lash could restrain her. Whether it was fur matted with blood from her tormentors' cruelty or a body covered in filth from her imprisonment, nothing could tarnish her magnificence – her raw and feral loveliness.

The sight before him now brought back vivid memories of that day.

The Seeker reminded him of that lioness. Only, she didn't need claws and fangs to intimidate anyone. She stood atop a pair of piled tables, her feet planted wide apart, her arms crossed over her chest, and her chin raised high. Her clothes and her skin were dirty and disheveled. Her hair was mussed, a dull black instead of its usual lustrous onyx. He had yet to see her stop moving. If anyone needed assistance, she provided. Not only was she leading what was left of Haven, she was also suffering right beside those who survived. She didn't hesitate to help clear rubble or take care of the wounded, and the strain of her efforts showed. Yet no matter how much mud, blood, and sweat she was covered in, she was still beautiful.

And fierce.

Never forget that when describing Cassandra Pentaghast.

"You will all die here!" she shouted at the crowd of villagers around her, her voice echoing off the Chantry walls. Varric couldn't help but smile at how blunt she was, even after countless warnings from the Inquisition's Ambassador. She wasn't armed with sword and shield, but she wielded her words like a fiery lash. Everyone in range flinched as though struck. "Unless you come with us now, you will not survive."

"She's right," Leliana spoke out beside her. The Nightingale's voice was softer but held no less assurance. "We must go  _now_."

"We won't leave without the Herald!" someone protested from the crowd in a heavy Orlesian accent – a man dressed in finer leathers than most of the others. It never ceased to amaze him how fickle people were. A mob could change directions and convictions faster than a breeze, and it seemed that the people of Haven were no different. None of them knew who it was that had attempted to poison the Herald nearly two weeks ago, but Varric didn't rule out the possibility that the idea had come from the villagers. She'd shaken their beliefs, and people tended to get touchy when things like that happened. He thought that she'd permanently lost favor, but what he saw now was evidence to the contrary.

"If we don't leave, then her sacrifice will be in vain. Is that what all of you want?" Cassandra challenged, straightening her shoulders and clenching her hands into fists at her sides. Her hazel eyes reminded him of a pair of blazing torches. He had to confess surprise at seeing her defend the elf girl's actions with such fervor. If she cared so much about her wellbeing, why did she let her run off on her fool's errand in the first place? Then again, maybe she knew something he didn't. If he was the one running things, he would have strapped that girl to one of the columns in the Chantry before he let her go running off on her own. But had that been the verdict, the villagers would never have rallied like they were doing now. Maybe her selflessness had restored their delusions.

"The rift has been closed for nearly a day, and no demons have come out," the same man answered from the crowd. "The Herald has saved us and will surely return. We can't leave her behind!" Noble or stupid? Varric still couldn't decide which word applied to these men and women more.

"We must have faith in the Herald!" another villager declared. "The Maker will bring her back to us!" Varric saw a muscle twitch in the Seeker's jaw. She looked ready to throttle the lot of them. He almost wished she would. Maybe then things would finally move forward. As it was, they were all at an impasse. They needed to get out of here.

"We cannot stay here," she declared. "We need supplies. The storm outside will only get worse. Without proper shelter, we will all  _freeze_." Beside her, Leliana nodded.

"We must gather what we can and march to Redcliffe." More protesting ensued until Cassandra raised her arms and demanded silence. The crowd listened, but those who believed in the Herald the most looked displeased. Varric knew where this was headed. They weren't finished. If the Seeker continued to insist that they leave, they might protest and try to overthrow her leadership. Poor sods. He didn't envy anyone who stood up to the Seeker. Though, if push came to shove, he wondered if she would have the willpower to strike down one of her own to restore order.

"You are all fools," she snarled at the crowd. Varric smiled when she hopped off her pedestal and strode towards him, steam practically coming out of her ears in her rage. Leliana strolled behind her, casting her companion a few concerned glances now and again. Though, he had to wonder if that wasn't an act. The Nightingale wasn't easy to read, and each of her actions had a motive behind it. She wasn't so different from himself. If there was anything Varric could recognize, it was someone who knew how to wear a mask for a living.

"What are  _you_  smirking about?" Cassandra snapped when she passed him.

"You know," Varric drawled, "…I don't think diplomacy is your strong suit, Seeker." He pushed off the column he was leaning on and followed her into the war room. The moment the door shut behind them, Cassandra stomped to the war table and slammed both hands on the surface.

"Ridiculous," she spat. "They would rather die here than do what they can to survive."

"They are just doing as their beliefs dictate," Leliana countered. Cassandra whirled around, glaring at her friend.

"And what is that worth?" she choked out. "Their lives? Everything they've worked for?"

"That's what it used to be worth to us," the Nightingale replied, a hint of bitterness in her voice. Varric found an empty chair and sat down, placing Bianca in his lap.

"Not that I don't enjoy seeing you guys breaking off pieces of the Chantry to use as firewood, but I have to agree with the Seeker. Something has to be done. We can't just sit around here and wait for…what? What  _are_ we waiting for, exactly?"

Cassandra shook her head. "I should not have let her go." Varric raised a brow, shocked to see the sudden guilt splayed across the Seeker's face. "She died for – "

"She  _didn't_  die for nothing," Leliana argued. "She closed the rift. The demons were swallowed with it." She placed a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. The sound of someone clearing their throat caused all three of them to look towards the corner of the room. Josephine sat there, quill in hand and a worried look on her face.

"What is the matter now?" she asked, her tone weary.

"They won't leave," Cassandra ground out. "The villagers. We've tried everything."

"Their hesitation is understandable," Josephine nodded. "They are frightened, and without a proper leader, they feel scattered and helpless."

"I'm  _trying_  to lead them," Cassandra said.

"No, no," the Ambassador rushed to explain. "That isn't what I meant. You are doing a spectacular job..." Then, noting how upset Cassandra was, she pursed her lips and opted to change the subject. "Perhaps we should focus on something else for a time."

"Do you have an update, Josephine?" Leliana approached her, leaning over her shoulder to glance at the paperwork laid out on the table in front of the Ambassador. Josephine had been shut in here for almost two days, penning correspondences to anyone that might be an ally and requesting urgent aid. The bad news was that the Inquisition had too few friends, and even fewer ones that would be willing to send assistance personally.

"There is news from Redcliffe. It seems that the rider we sent out arrived safely and is negotiating for assistance."

"What are the chances that they will send help?"

The Ambassador bit her lip and shook her head. "I cannot say. Arl Teagan is away from his lands, so we will be forced to wait until news reaches the King."

"Away?" Leliana frowned.

"It seems he was just called away shortly before our rider made it to his destination. We just missed him."

"Damn," the Spymaster swore. "That's not good. Denerim is a long ride from Redcliffe."

"Can we send a bird?" Josephine inquired.

"It won't be much faster, and I don't like the idea of sending one of our only surviving message birds away while we are so vulnerable." Varric chuckled at this.

"What, so you think something  _else_  could possibly go wrong?" he smirked.

"There is much that could still go wrong," Leliana told him. She didn't appreciate his levity, but he'd be damned if he gave a rat's ass about it. The wait was starting to grate on him too, and if something wasn't done soon, he might just leave and go somewhere else where there was less drama and religion involved. He thought back to Fenris's letter. Now  _there_  was a cause he could get behind. Hawke was missing, and he was itching to gather his resources and use them to find her.

 _Just a little longer here_  - he told himself, much like he had a hundred times before. His gaze settled on Cassandra.

"What about Val Royeaux?" Josephine suggested, her face brightening. "We could ask for assistance there. I've been corresponding with some nobles there, and it would seem that some are sympathetic towards our cause."

"Who, exactly?" Leliana wondered. "The last time we spoke of going to the city, we were discussing how dangerous it was for the Herald. The city is crawling with Templars and Clerics who call us blasphemers."

"Well," Josephine unfolded a nearby envelope and took out a letter. "We just received this invitation from Duke Bastien de Ghyslain."

"What does he want?" Leliana skimmed over the letter. "A salon...interesting. And it would seem that the invitation is from a certain Madame de Fer."

"Sounds imposing," Varric grumbled.

"She is the First Enchanter of Montsimmard and is well connected," Josephine brightened. "If we speak to her, perhaps we can rally some supporters in the city."

Varric grunted in disapproval. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but somehow I don't think we're in a position to attend fancy tea parties."

"I will go," Cassandra cut in. Both women and Varric turned to look at her. "I will take Nassor and ride to Val Royeaux." Varric's smile broadened.

"Aren't you short a clean dress, Seeker?" Cassandra ignored his biting sarcasm and stepped back from her hunched position over the war table. "I will speak to this First Enchanter and the Clerics and Templars as well. Though I am with the Inquisition, I am still a Seeker. Perhaps I can change their minds." Leliana didn't look convinced.

"They won't change their minds, Cassandra. They hate the Inquisition and the Herald."

"We no longer have a Herald," she declared, her expression grave. Varric stroked his chin as he watched the Seeker transform from an angry woman without a way out of a situation to a determined warrior who knew exactly what needed to be done. The metamorphosis intrigued him, as did her resilience. He still hated her guts, but that didn't mean that he wasn't coming to respect her. "The threat to their power ended when I let her step out that door." She picked her weapons up from a nearby stand, strapping her shield to her back and looping a belt around her waist. "I won't waste another minute waiting."

* * *

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The snowstorm began in the mountains and slid downwards like an avalanche, enveloping the landscape like a white cocoon of ice. Standing still and strong in the face of the whipping winds and currents of rain and snow was difficult, but the warrior managed it with some effort. He'd waited too long for this moment to submit to the forces of nature now. Thus, he stood proud and tall, dressed in heavy furs and a hood that folded back to reveal a stern countenance.

Though he was Qunari, he possessed no horns. Dark skin contrasted against his clothing. His hair was as pale as the surrounding valley, long and braided into tight rows atop his head that stretched down to his shoulders. Each braid was secured by ivory beads with intricate carvings on them. Vivid green eyes watched the horizon with a hawk-like concentration – ever searching, ever wary.

An enormous greatsword was strapped to his back, reaching from the warrior's shoulders at the hilt to his ankles at the tip. Its sheath rested beneath a leather pack of supplies and a large horn made of dragon bone. Around his neck hung a single trapping – a thick corded leather braid with one half of a polished dragon tooth hanging at its end. In his right hand, he held a gnarled staff, worn thin by use during his trek here. His left hand was clenched into a fist.

"You said this was the place, Strezark," he claimed, peeling back a strip of cloth that protected the lower half of his face from the weather. His voice was deep, a low rumble that could be heard even over the powerful winds. Beside him – its back on level with the warrior's chest – stood a creature that resembled a large shaggy black wolf. A closer look would have proven that this was far from the case. Though possessing of many of the common features of these beasts, this animal's claws were longer and sharper than a canine's, with an extra set of talons piercing through fur and flesh above the first. The animal's fur was uneven in length in several places, and it bore countless hideous scars all over its body. It stared at the horizon with one large red eye; the other was clouded white, ruined by yet another long scar slashing down the right side of its face.

 _"There is no mistake"_  – the creature growled in the Qunari's thoughts. It bared its crooked and misaligned teeth, revealing black gums and yellowed fangs glistening with dark venom. " _She will be here."_

The Qunari shifted his weight between his feet, restlessness and a certain degree of impatience cutting off all chances of remaining still. He and the wolf had been traveling for nearly three weeks to reach their destination, their only guides a poorly drawn map and Strezark's chaotic visions. This did not sit well with the seasoned warrior. He preferred certainty and methodical planning to improvised treks through the countryside. In this case, however, the situation demanded that he break his usual customs and habits, for the success of their mission hinged upon secrecy and speed.

"And if you are wrong?" the Qunari grumbled. "If this is not her…"

 _"It is her, Sten" –_ Strezark told him, showing him telepathic flashes of chaotic images. The warrior grimaced. He disapproved of the way the wolf easily infiltrated the minds of others and communicated his thoughts. From the mess of colors and blurred shapes, the warrior could make out a familiar face and armor. An elven woman held a pair of daggers aloft, frenzied as she fought a larger foe. Just the sight of the girl's golden eyes stirred his aged and grizzled heart into an agitated rhythm. How many years had it been since he'd seen her awake? How many years since they'd spoken? Too many – he thought as he reached up to stroke the dragon's tooth on his neck with a gloved thumb. He glanced at the object as he did so, reading the elven writing there.

_**Mala Suledin Nadas** _

The carvings were worn and faded. Sten had lost count of how many times he'd rubbed his hands and fingers over them in the darkness of the tomb over the past decade, hoping that the message would be somehow carved into his soul as well. That is, if everything she said was true and he really possessed one. Over the years, she'd told him countless stories of ancient elven gods and legends. At some point, he wondered if he didn't begin to believe her. He wasn't a man given to the whims of sentiment or feeling, yet this was different.  _She_  was different, as was the powerful friendship that they would share for eternity. He looked towards the horizon once more. Time was not an enemy he could engage with his blade; it was a foul and heartless monster, full of heavy memories that ate at his resolve. His thumb grazed the writing once more.

 _ **Mala Suledin Nadas**_  – You must endure.

And he had.

For over ten years, he had endured and waited – guarded and protected.

All for nothing.

 _"Do not despair, Qunari. We have not yet lost"_  – Strezark asserted. His ears suddenly perked up. He went rigid, his gaze swiveling to the valley below. From his position on a rising hill, Sten could see the entire clearing. The place the wolf was staring at lit up in a flash of brilliant green. A sphere formed, something akin to a bubble of emerald energy, then lightning fizzled downwards in an unnaturally straight line. With a faint  _pop_  that echoed in the hills, a group of figures was hurled from the tear.

Sten's grip tightened on the staff in his hand. He peeled back his hood and tried to make out the individual people struggling to stand in the knee-deep snow. He spotted an elf, a tall human in battered armor, and –  _there!_  His eyes narrowed on a small elven woman with billowing black hair. She was dressed in Grey Warden colors, in armor that he knew as well as he knew its owner. No doubt about it. It was Arian.

 _"Not yet" -_ the wolf warned him when he would have started making his way towards the group. " _Things are different now. Not the same, yet similar to that which We have guarded for all these years."_ Images of a dank cave with icicles on its walls and glowing plants surrounding a statue of a woman flashed in his mind, augmenting Strezark's warning. Sten's breath froze as he saw the tomb once more. A pale face. Closed eyes. Clasped hands holding a pair of ornate daggers. A necklace with half a dragon's tooth that was the mate to his own. Then silence. So much silence all around.

"I know this," the Qunari replied in a cutting tone. He did not appreciate the reminder.

 _"Wait until they have settled" -_ Strezark ordered, gesturing towards the group. Sten tried to commit their features to memory.

"Who are they?"

 _"We know not"_  – Strezark answered. " _The elf Mage smells of a magic We have never sensed before, and the human reeks of war and battle. There is another here as well, a spirit lingering…perhaps haunting."_

"Is  _kadan_  in danger?"

 _"When is she not?"_  – the wolf snapped, baring his fangs and snorting in disgust. " _Ever since the Elfling summoned Us, she has been nothing but trouble."_

"Do you need a reminder of your duty?" Sten warned. He'd never particularly trusted Strezark or his motives. Not only was he a creature of magic, but his and Arian's history was fraught with conflict and aggression - so much so that he wondered how it was even fathomable for them to have grown so close. He  _wanted_ to hold as much faith in him as Arian did, but even after a decade, he still had his doubts about the beast's character.

 _"Duty and obligation are mortal trappings" –_ Strezark bit out, his tail swishing in agitation.

"Yet you are bound by them."

 _"Settle down, Qunari" –_ he continued when Sten turned to face him. " _She is Our friend, same as you."_  When their gazes met, Sten saw jumbled images of nights in their camp many years ago. Arian asleep with the wolf at her side. Hands brushing over scarred flesh and mangled fur. Hunting together in the forests for Darkspawn. A bitter hatred that became a powerful friendship. Then, the battle with the Archdemon. Strezark standing over a wounded Arian, his good eye shedding a tear over her mangled body.

Shutting out the memories, Sten turned to walk down the hill. He kept one eye on the group below and noted their behavior, trying to understand their relationship using their body language. The human and elf seemed to be protective of the girl, but it was not they who concerned him. Something was different about Arian. She didn't carry herself the same way that he was used to seeing. A barrier swirled around the group, cast in haste by none other than her. The woman he knew would never walk this valley with her weapons sheathed. She would never rely on another person for protection as this girl seemed to be doing. Nor would she  _ever_  openly cast magic. He shouldn't be surprised. If Strezark's theory was correct, she may have no memories of her past and who she was. The spell she'd cast on them before falling into slumber all those years ago had been broken, and Sten knew that this could only be attributed to her death. So who was this woman, then, who wore Arian's face and carried her spirit?

 _"They will not let her go" –_ Strezark said. " _They will see Us as a threat."_

"We must separate her from the others," Sten agreed. "Doing that in this storm will be – "

 _"This storm is just what We need" –_ Strezark stopped him. " _They will be blind and weak."_ His gaze swiveled westward, where a patch of darkness broke through the swirling snow.

"They will try to hide in that cave," the warrior reasoned. The wolf beside him growled.

 _"We cannot let them take shelter. They will be stronger out of the elements."_ He conveyed flashes of a losing battle with the Mage and human using the walls of the cavern as protection while they guarded from a frontal assault.

Sten planted his staff in the snow, folding both arms across his chest. "What do you suggest?"

 _"The first step to breaking an alliance is pitting its members against each other. We know her"_  – Strezark purred. _"If her friends are threatened, she will come to Us."_

* * *

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_Wake up, Elfling…_

When Arianwen opened her eyes, she thought she might have gone blind. Whiteness besieged her. She blinked to clear her vision, and when that failed to rid her of the dizzying brightness, she opened her eyes all the way. If she wasn't so cold, she might have believed that she'd been somehow trapped in the sun, so bright were her surroundings. Her face felt wet. Something frigid and soggy seeped through her clothing to burn against her neck and shoulders. Snow, she realized.

She lay still, her limbs feeling weak and numb, until something shook her shoulder. When she didn't move, that something sank fingers into her arm with a bruising grip and flipped her onto her back. A voice called her name. Solas's face swam into view – his eyes even lighter now that they were in such a bright environment. His lips moved; he was saying something to her, and it took far too long for the words to register.

"I'm alright, just…a bit stunned," she told him as he helped her sit up. Her head spun, her thoughts muddled and murky. She recalled the time she'd spent in the Fade, missing the clarity that that place gave her. For some reason, it felt easier be there than in this realm. She tried to focus on one thing at a time. First, her surroundings. Then, the sound of snow crunching beneath boots as someone approached her and Solas. She turned her head to see Cullen crouching beside her as well. He looked exhausted but otherwise unharmed.

"Where are we?" he asked, his breath emerging as a long trail of steam. He shielded his eyes from the wind and rain as he looked around what appeared to be an expansive valley. No trees or landmarks broke the horizon – just flat land that reminded her of a frozen tundra. Sleet and snow pommeled her from all sides. Arianwen tried to brace herself against the cutting wind, but nothing helped lessen the bone-deep cold. Solas must have noticed, for he pulled her closer to him. She sighed when the furs of his robes provided some measure of warmth. Heat radiated from him like a furnace, and she was helpless to stop herself from leaning into him.

"We s-shouldn't be far f-from Haven," she replied through chattering teeth. At least, that was her hope. She was certain that she would be able to open a rift closer to the village. As it was, it seemed that they were miles off course, if not farther. She recognized the surrounding mountains, but other than that, nothing looked familiar. At least the customary leather armor she wore had been somehow replaced by heavier chainmail. It was padded and warmer. With confusion, she inspected the blue and grey tunic and the straps of leather boots she'd never seen before. A pair of daggers rested in scabbards on her hips, their hilts foreign yet somehow nostalgic. How had this happened? This was the armor the she'd been wearing in the illusions of the Fade, wasn't it? She groaned. If only trying to remember didn't feel like slogging through a marsh.

"We have to make shelter," Cullen suggested through gritted teeth, derailing her thoughts. Solas nodded and raised his hand in the air, summoning fire to his fingertips. He held it close to her, and Arianwen rushed to thaw her frozen fingers in its aura. In that moment, it occurred to her to throw up a barrier to at least shield them from the gnashing teeth of the wind. As soon as she did so, Cullen moved closer, and she tightened the radius so the action would drain less mana. Panic gripped her, for she had no idea where they could even make camp. The entire valley was exposed to the weather.

"H-How?" Arianwen asked. "We d-don't have a-any supplies." She looked to Solas then realized that she had yet to spot their newest companion – the young man with blue eyes and golden hair. A few quick glances around yielded no sign of him. Strange. She was certain that she felt him holding her hand as they traveled through the rift.

"Night will fall soon," Solas said quietly. He didn't look concerned, almost as though he'd forgotten about the strange youth. In fact, he looked entirely too apathetic in general. She couldn't even feel him reacting to the cold. He wasn't shivering and didn't seem uncomfortable despite the harsh weather. How odd. Did it have something to do with how warm the air around him was? "We won't survive without a fire. The barrier will keep out the wind, but not the frost." Looping his arms under her elbows, he helped Arianwen to her feet. "Conserve your mana. We'll need it to start and keep a fire going."

"Look!" Cullen called, pointing to the side of one of the hills. "A cave." Arianwen squinted to see what he was trying to show them and saw what looked to be the remains of a rock slide. Beneath a massive pile of boulders and rocks, she could see a spot of darkness.

 _A good place to go to die -_ something murmured in her thoughts. She couldn't explain it, but for some reason, she suddenly had a strong feeling that they shouldn't go that way. The structure did resemble a cave, but that didn't mean it was their best option. Who knew how deep it went or what dangers lay there? She could easily imagine a bear or a pack of wolves lurking inside, waiting for them. She turned to suggest that going there wasn't the smartest of plans, but when she saw how Cullen shivered and huddled against the cold, she gritted her teeth and nodded.

"We should t-take a look."

By the time they reached their destination, they were soaked to the bone. Solas still didn't look uncomfortable, however, a fact that Arianwen continued to find stranger and stranger. He kept his arm around her shoulders, sharing what warmth he could, as he guided them inside. The fire in his hand burned bright against the bleak darkness within the cavern. Arianwen felt on edge, her eyes darting to all corners. Fortunately, aside from rocks and a few animal bones, it seemed that this place was vacant. It wasn't a large cave, but it would work to help them survive the night. Cullen didn't miss a beat. He began to explore the cavern, gathering whatever wood or debris that he could find. Unfortunately, most of what he gathered was wet from the snow. Solas gave a nod of approval.

"If we work together, we can dry it. Throw it in the center," he motioned. Cullen dumped what he found in the middle of the cavern, and between the two Mages, they were able to summon flames that would be hot enough to burn.

"There are a few trees past this cave," Solas said. "I can go find some more wood."

"I'll g-go with you," Arianwen insisted even though the last thing she wanted was to go back out there.

"No,  _da'len,_ " he shook his head. "Stay here and get warm. Tend to the flames. Make certain they don't weaken." Before she could argue, Solas slipped past her and Fadestepped out of the cavern, leaving her and Cullen alone. The sounds of their teeth chattering and shivering bounced off the cavern walls, echoing endlessly. Now that they were away from the wind and rain, the full force of the cold hit home. She tugged off her gloves and threw them to the ground, gasping when she saw that the tips of her fingers were a faint blue. She pressed them closer to the fire.

"You shouldn't stay in that armor," Cullen said as he began to untie the sash around his waist. He unbuckled his chest plate and tossed it to the ground. His bracers and pauldrons followed suit. She could agree with that. The leather and metal of her armor hurt when it touched her skin and her hands felt warmer now without the gloves on them. With a nod, she began unbuttoning her tunic. It was difficult to do with her hands shaking and her fingers half frozen, but she managed to slip off most of her outer armor and her boots before Cullen spoke again.

"You'll freeze unless you get warm, and in those wet clothes you'll just…" he suddenly trailed off when he had his red robes half way down his torso. Arianwen peeled off her top, leaving only what she had on beneath her leggings. Smallclothes, she'd heard women calling them back in the village. Another odd  _shemlen_ word, no doubt. Curious as to why he stopped in the middle of a sentence, she glanced at the Commander.

"Is something wrong?" she blinked, tilting her head to the side when she saw the stunned look on his face. Her words seemed to snap him out of a trance. He whirled around and turned away from her.

"Y-You're…I didn't mean for you to take off  _all_  of your clothes…"

"But they're wet," she frowned. "They'll dry quicker if I'm not wearing them." She examined the way he fumbled with taking off his robe and mantle and stepped towards him. "Are your hands shaking from the cold, too? Do you need help with that?"

"No!" he practically shouted, his spine going as rigid as a board. "That is…no, I'm fine…" His emotions fluttered to her across the cavern, and her frown deepened.

"Cullen, what's wrong?"

"You should go sit by the fire," he said, his voice as tense as a drawn band.

"You are embarrassed, but I don't understand why…" His silence confused and worried her. Was he feeling ill? Had she done something wrong? He started when she put a hand on his arm, pulling him and silently urging him to turn around. He did so with reluctance, and even when he was facing her, he refused to look at her. His face bore a faint flush. Shadows and lights from the fire danced across his exposed skin. The moment that she looked at his chest, she finally understood what was troubling him.

"You're injured!" she gasped, her eyes sliding down a set of gashes on his torso. "The demons did this. Cullen, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not anything serious," he mumbled. Was  _this_ why he was averting his gaze? Did he blame her for what happened? Of course he would. It was only logical.

"It  _is_ serious," she insisted. "Demon claws are sometimes tipped with venom." She raised up on her tiptoes so she could reach his face with her hand, pushing her palm against his forehead. "And your face is flushed. Is it a fever?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, wrapping his hand around her wrist and stepping back. "It's just a scratch. Sit by the fire, Arianwen," he commanded. His rejection hurt, as did the thought that her suspicions were accurate. If he blamed her for the ordeal he faced in the Fade, then…

 _Can you hear Us, little Elfling? –_ a voice spoke in her ear. Not her instinct, and not the same as the boy near the rift. This was different, deeper and more bestial.  _Come outside. We are waiting for you._  She turned to the cavern's entrance and squinted against the brightness of the snow. Something moved just past the edge of her vision, but as soon as she blinked, it was gone. She shook her head, wondering if she wasn't hallucinating in her exhaustion.

The air trembled. She sensed magic a split second before Solas Fadestepped back inside the cave, an armload of branches in tow. Cullen dropped her wrist as though it was a lump of hot coals. Solas deposited most of the branches by the fire then looked up at her. A few moments passed in awkward silence as he regarded both her and the Commander. She always had trouble reading his emotions and expressions, but there was no doubt that what he saw displeased him greatly.

"Is everything alright, Solas?" she asked. "You were gone for so long…"

"It took time to find anything remotely dry," he explained. In one swift motion, he tugged off the fur-lined portion of his robe, walked to her, and wrapped it around her shoulders. He was left wearing only a thin undershirt and lambswool leggings, but all protests against his action flew out of her mind when she felt how dry the robe around her was.

"It's not wet at all," Arianwen marveled, nuzzling into the fur with her cheek. It was warm and smelled of something nostalgic and familiar, a scent that reminded her of nature and the forest. "How is that possible?" He pulled the hood up over her head.

"A spell,  _da'len_. One I will have to teach you one day, perhaps." The tone of his voice was neutral and almost distant, so different from what she was used to hearing when they spoke. What was wrong? Did he blame her for what happened, too? Her chest constricted, breath hitching in her throat. First the Commander and now Solas?

"Cullen is injured," she said, trying to keep her focus on what was important. "I'm afraid the demons in the Fade may have poisoned him."

"I'm fine," Cullen insisted.

"We should search for Elfroot or Embrium," Arianwen gave Solas a pleading look.

"Impossible. Not in this storm." He turned to Cullen. "Let me take a look, Commander," he said and stepped in his direction. Relieved now that Solas was involved, Arianwen sat on the ground, closing her eyes as blissful warmth crept into her limbs once more. Wrapping her arms around her knees, Arianwen rested her head on her arm. Minute by minute, the day began to catch up with her. She'd nearly died today, the Commander had come close to being devoured by demons, Haven was destroyed, and she was responsible for all of it. A haze settled over her thoughts, exhaustion creeping up on her.

 _We know you can hear Us, Elfling…come outside…come…_ There was that voice again. It had to be her imagination. With everything that happened, she just needed to rest a bit to regain her strength. After that, the voice would leave. Her eyelids began to droop when a cloud of black smoke appeared next to her and nearly made her jump out of her skin. A strangled yell escaped her, and she scrambled back.

"There is another coming here. Angry. Determined. Enduring," a voice mumbled through the smoke. Still expecting an enemy, Arianwen rolled to where she'd dropped her belt and drew her daggers, pointing them at the intruder.

"Cole?" Solas asked from across the cavern. "Is that you?" The smoke thinned, and the first things that Arianwen could make out were a wide brimmed hat and patchwork leather armor. A pair of blue eyes met hers, and she felt relief flood her body. It was the boy they'd met earlier. He looked directly at her when he spoke.

"He is not alone. Another comes with him. Both enduring. Both ready to fight," the young man continued, seemingly oblivious to the panic he caused. Cole - Solas had called him. Was that his name?

"What do you mean?" she asked. "What are you talking about? Who is coming?" Arianwen felt a tug on her arm and turned back to see that Cullen was crouching behind her, sword at the ready. Her eyes lingered on his chest, on the bleeding gashes there that  _she_ was responsible for, however indirectly.

"Who is this?" His voice turned to a low rumble, eyes narrowing and muscles stiff.

"This is…" Arianwen wondered how she could explain Cole's presence. She didn't really understand it, either. What  _was_  he? A friend? An ally?

"I am Cole," the boy said. "I've come to help."

"He assisted us at the rift," Solas chimed in. "I saw him take down a Pride demon practically on his own." Cole's eyes met the Commander's and clouded over.

"You want to protect, to even the debt of a life saved in the Fade. You wonder what will happen to her now that she has forgotten again. Nervous. Confused. Remembering past judgments. Recalling a tower with foul magic and corruption." He turned to Arianwen and – still crouching – hopped over to her and took her hand. "It  _isn't_  your fault. The rift. The Fade. You hurt because you believe it was your doing. Haven. The village. The deaths. The fire. But, it wasn't  _you_  who released the Anchor."

"Cole," Solas cut in sternly, interrupting him. The young man's head snapped to the elf, his eyes wide and confused. "You shouldn't do that to everyone you meet."

"Another secret?" the boy mumbled, his eyes clearing.

"I remember now," Arianwen said. "You were there in the Chantry. It was  _your_  voice that I heard in my thoughts."

The boy nodded. "It was. I saw that you wanted to help, and so I wanted to let you remember."

"What  _is_  he?" Cullen demanded, raising his blade higher. "Was he reading our minds just now?"

"He is a spirit, I believe," Solas speculated. "One with an interesting gift."

"Or a  _demon_ ," Cullen snarled. "First, he appeared out of thin air. Now, he is reading our thoughts?"

"I am  _not_  a demon," Cole frowned. Solas's expression mimicked his.

"Not everything that you don't understand is demonic of origin, Commander," he chided. "I suggest you put your sword down." Cullen rose to his feet, glaring at the elf.

"Do not presume to give me orders," he warned.

"It was a suggestion, in fact. If he wanted to harm us, Cole would have already done so."

"You are surprisingly calm about this,  _Mage_ ," the Commander sneered. Tension sprang up in the air, thick as a wall of limestone. Arianwen looked first at Cullen then at Solas, wondering how she hadn't managed to sense the sparks between them before. Now that she did, there was no way to miss them.

"Again with your hatred of Mages? I was under the impression that you were no longer a Templar," Solas glared back.

"Just because I've left the Order doesn't mean that I will suffer the presence of demons." Arianwen watched the argument build, wondering how she could stop it. She'd never seen either man in this state before. Cullen's anger churned like boiling water while Solas's emotions were shut behind so many barriers that she had no hope of sensing them. What had set this off?

"Calling something demonic just because you don't understand it is ignorance," Solas accused.

"Since when were  _apostates_  experts in such matters?" If things weren't bad enough, Cole joined in, though Arianwen suspected that he just wanted to help.

"Something has changed. Closer. Touching. Naked skin in the firelight. You put her in danger. Because of you, I almost lost what is precious. Because of you – "

"Silence,  _demon_ ," Cullen glared, raising his sword. Arianwen panicked and tugged on Cole's arm, maneuvering him behind her.

"Wait, Cullen. He isn't our enemy," she pleaded.

"Don't bother,  _da'len,_ " Solas said waspishly. " _Shemlen_  will never understand such complexities. War is in their nature, and it is all they can fathom."

"That's not a fair thing to say, Solas," she countered.

"Isn't it?" he sneered. Watching her friends argue like this hurt, but it also made her angry, too. This was not the time for petty bickering. She thought about Haven and what Cassandra and Leliana might be doing now. Varric was there, too. And Josephine. Had they made it out safely? Had they seen her signal? What of the villagers? There were so many wounded in the Chantry. Had they been able to find shelter? An urgent need to see everyone safe only served to fuel her anger.  _That's_  what they should be focusing on, not arguments.

"Stop this!" Arianwen snarled, surprising herself with how sharp her tone was. Both men's eyes snapped to her. They looked shocked, but at least she had their attention. Good. Now, how could she stop this feud? Words – so many of them – rose up in her chest. There was so much she wanted to say to both of them. Guilt mixed with frustration and concern. She took a deep breath then set her hands on her hips.

"There is no point to the both of you sitting there and stamping your hooves at each other." She pointed outside. "Right now, our friends could be waiting for us in Haven. They might need our help."

"Assuming they are still alive," Solas said.

"They  _are,_ " she emphasized. "We have to believe they are." She addressed the Commander next. "You know Cassandra. She wouldn't allow the villagers to die." After a few uneasy moments of silence, he finally lowered his blade.

"What do you propose we do? We can't go back out there with this storm," Cullen protested. "Whatever the situation may be, getting ourselves killed won't help anyone." She couldn't argue with that, but at the very least her words had stopped their bickering. The group settled back into a tense silence.

"We should rest," Solas suggested at length. "There is a long way to walk tomorrow."

"I'll take the first watch," Cullen offered. For a moment, Arianwen hoped that they'd put their argument behind them, but she couldn't miss the continued sparks that flew between the two men as Cullen tugged on some clothing and his fur mantle, walked to the entrance of the cave, and leaned against the wall. She may have put a stop to their squabble for now, but it would be a long time before the two would let go of whatever vendetta that held them in its sway.

"We should bandage your wound," Arianwen insisted.

"It will be fine," Cullen told her without turning around. "For now, just rest. You can worry later."

Just then, a sound pierced the storm outside. All of them perked up, for it sounded like someone was blowing a war horn. Arianwen scrambled to her feet and joined Cullen at the entrance to the cave. Solas and Cole walked over soon after. She tried to see through the pounding rain and snow, but visibility was too low. None of them could see past the wall of ice.

 _Hear Us,_   _Elfling_...The voice from earlier sighed in her ear.  _We have come for you. If you do not come out to Us, We will spill the blood of all who stand in Our way._

"He is coming," Cole murmured.

She turned to him with wide eyes. "You can hear that voice, too?" The young man nodded.

"What is the matter,  _da'len?_ " Solas asked.

"There's a voice. It's been speaking to me since we came through the rift."

"A voice? What sort of voice?"

"I don't know..."

 _Come to Us..._ Outside, something moved again. The sound of the war horn pierced the wind once more. At first, Arianwen thought that she was seeing things, but as anxious seconds passed, she could make out a pair of figures moving towards the cave. One was taller than any man or elf she'd ever seen - a Qunari. He was covered in pure white furs and held a large horn in one hand and a staff in the other. Beside him stood a terrifying monster, a shaggy black wolf with crooked fangs and a scarred face. Arianwen tried, but she found that she couldn't look away from the monster's gaze.

"What in the Maker's name...?" Cullen breathed, drawing his sword. "Is that a  _Blightwolf_?" The creature stepped past the Qunari and lowered its head with a growl. A barrier flew up around them. Solas's doing, no doubt.

 _"Give Us our Warden" -_ the Blightwolf snarled. This time, all of her companions seemed to hear its voice. Cullen's face turned a shade whiter, and she saw him shake his head.

"What do you want?" Arianwen demanded. "Who are you?" The creature's eye narrowed on her. She gasped as images flooded her mind, so chaotic and fast that she couldn't make out anything within. She clutched at her head and sank to her knees. When the spinning stopped, something came into focus - a dank cave with a statue of a woman in the center, then a girl lying in an ornate bed surrounded by glowing flowers and ice. She recognized the girl as herself. Beside her slept this monster, its eyes closed in a peaceful expression that seemed contradictory to its current threatening demeanor.

"What is your business with her, tainted beast?" Solas demanded.

 _"Give Us our Warden"_  - the Blightwolf repeated. " _If you do not, We will take her by force."_

"You will not move past our barrier," Solas challenged.

_"We do not have to. Look to your warrior, mortals. The poison flowing in his veins gives Us a foothold in his mind."_

Arianwen examined Cullen's countenance, dread building in her chest. His face had lost all of its color now, and she watched with panic as he shook his head - harder this time. She stepped in front of him and snagged the front of his robes with her hands.

"Is he speaking to you? Don't listen to him," she warned. He didn't seem to hear her. Instead, he turned to Solas, his eyes fogging over and turning a dull brown.

"What now,  _Mage_?" Cullen sneered. "Will you try to defend this demon as well?"

"This is no demon," Solas replied, his calm unwavering. "It is, in fact, a Darkspawn."


	10. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be going out of town for a week on the 12th. I'll do my best to write while I'm lazying on the beach, but if there's a delay in updating, that's probably why (I likely fell asleep from too much sunlight and fresh air). My goal is to post one more chapter before I leave :)
> 
> As always, thank you to those who left comments, reviews, kudos, favorites, and alerts! Your support means a lot!

 

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Who was this woman?

Who was she?

He couldn't understand how this was possible.

Outwardly, she bore the same features as Arian – the same eyes, the same hair, the same  _vallaslin_ on her face. Yet, this was not her. Strezark's vision wasn't limited by his physical sight. He saw the world differently than mortals. Where someone who wasn't of the Fade might look at this girl and see an elf, he looked at her and saw beyond. His vision bore beneath skin, dug deep beneath flesh, and sought out the core of each creature. This girl wasn't who he expected, yet she wasn't a complete stranger either. At first, he considered that his initial impression was a mistake. But, there was no mistake when it came to this.

Arian's spirit was unique. He could still remember the first time he saw her walking in the Fade so many years ago. Back then, she had been just a child – carefree and untainted. That purity was enough to captivate him, enough to start an obsession festering within the rotting remains of his soul. His fixation wasn't born of flowery feelings of friendship or kindness. At the time, he had been something…else; something that wanted to break her, something that wanted to possess her, and at the same time something that yearned to wipe her from existence. So, he'd latched himself to her – made her an offer when she was most vulnerable – and in her weakness, she agreed. Thus, they were bonded. Nothing in this world or the next could separate them. He knew her as well as she knew herself, if not more.

But, no.

That wasn't quite the way of things.

The girl before him  _didn't_ know herself.

In fact, she might as well have been a shell of Arian. The trappings were there; physically, she was the spitting image of his Warden. But her soul was either gone or dormant deep inside of her. He couldn't sense neither the taint within her blood nor the fragment of ancient magic that had always resided within her. Instead, something else had taken its place – a different sort of magic that, though similar, smelled and felt very different. Her scars were missing as well. In fact, she looked a bit younger than he remembered her last. There were no lines at the corners of her eyes; no faint crease between her eyebrows. It was almost as though the Templars had never taken her; almost as though the Blight had never happened.

 _Arian –_ he reached out to her through their bond. Over and over, he called to her, refusing to give up, refusing to believe that he had made a mistake.  _Arian, answer Us…_

But she did not. She stared at him without any recognition whatsoever. In fact, he thought he could see fear begin to take root on her face. She'd looked at him like this once, long ago. At that time, they'd been bitter enemies. At that time, he could never have imagined the journeys and perils they would face together as friends. Seeing her lack of recognition, watching as she shrank from his voice, and then being confronted like an enemy once more caused more hurt than he would care to admit. Not that he ever would. He was much too proud.

While he stared her down, those accompanying her argued amongst themselves. The human warrior gave him pause. Something about him seemed almost familiar, but Strezark couldn't place it. He had expected him to be easily manipulated, especially since demon venom coursed through his blood from a fresh wound. However, after the initial moment of confusion and a brief battle for control, he retained his senses and managed to keep a firm hold on his will. Impressive. And annoying. Strezark had hoped to use him as the weak point for the group. Turning allies against one another used to be one of his favorite past times. Arian discouraged it in the past, but she was gone now. If he could use his talents to achieve his goals, he wouldn't hesitate to do so.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sten draw his sword. The ringing of the notched blade sliding against the metal sheathe was a familiar and comforting sound. Good. At least now, if worst came to worst, he would only have to be concerned with attacking a single target. Strezark had confidence in his skill, but skill could only do so much against superior numbers. This way, it was the spirit and the human warrior for Sten and the elf and Arian for him. He could handle the Mage, and he refused to believe that Arian would truly strike him down. She might attack him, but she would never wound him; she wouldn't risk the consequences.

At length, the group ceased their bickering.

"It is, in fact, a Darkspawn," the elven Mage announced, almost sounding proud of himself in his erroneous assumption. Strezark felt his hackles rising. That arrogant tone displeased him, as did the remark that was meant to be a veiled insult.  _Mortals and their limited sight_  – he inwardly sneered with distaste. If only the Mage could see his  _true_  form, perhaps he wouldn't dare to insult him so. Strezark straightened his back and raised his head, sickened by the mortal's lack of respect. Darkspawn, indeed.

" _You. Elf. You know not what forces you tamper with in standing against Us" –_ Strezark growled. Touching the Mage's mind was a simple task, as was sensing his thoughts. They were well guarded, but he couldn't keep him locked out. No one could. Not even Arian had been able to keep his powers at bay, and her magic stemmed from the blood of ancients. He couldn't hear him as easily as he could some others, but he could easily sense the dark cloud of suspicion and concern that shadowed his mind. He was worried about the girl, yet somehow it wasn't her that he feared losing.

" _Release the Warden, and no one will be harmed" –_ he repeated, this time putting more force behind his words. He emptied a string of images into the elf's mind. A battle in the cavern. The snow bleeding red. Lifeless grey eyes staring up at the ceiling above as blood dripped down elven ears. When confronted with an image of their own demise, most mortals shied away in terror. He expected the elf to falter. Instead, he tilted up his chin, set his feet wider apart, and threw more mana into the barrier. A movement caught his attention. The human warrior shuffled to stand in front of Arian, raising his blade.

"Cullen, wait…" she warned. He paid her no heed. His face was morphed into a picture of anger and disgust.

"This isn't the first time I've dealt with the trickery of demons," he ground out. Yes, Strezark could feel that from him. Something that was buried deep beneath layers of self-control scratched at the surface of his thoughts, an ever-present reminder of failures long past. This was good. This was heartening. Perhaps this could even be used as an advantage. Though Strezark was certain that the human felt him rummaging through his mind, he didn't display any outward discomfort. Interesting. "Step past the barrier and you  _will_ regret it," the warrior threatened, his voice unwavering and full of the promise of pain.

"Wait! There's no need to fight," the girl clamored, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. She shouldered past the human, swiveling her head around to face everyone present.

"They attacked first," the human said, turning to face the now armed Sten. In response, the Qunari rested the tip of his blade against the ground. A deception - Strezark knew - for the moment that the human chose to strike, Sten would move with blinding speed to counter.

"They  _haven't_  attacked. Not yet." When she turned back to Strezark, there was hesitation in her eyes. "Please tell us who you are. Why do you threaten us?" His eye narrowed. Peace. A fool's notion – one that the Warden he knew would never have entertained lightly. She would have likely attacked him by now. In fact, he'd been counting on it. He'd planned on drawing her away from the others in the heat of the battle, then using his powers to subdue her. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like this was going to work. This girl wasn't as hotheaded as the woman he remembered. She wasn't even considering reaching for her weapon, a fact that irked him as much as it worried him. What had happened to her?

" _Who are We, you ask" –_ he grunted.  _"You do not know, then."_ She shook her head. Strezark stepped forward, feeling the Mage's barrier rebel in response. It was stronger than he expected, and again he found himself wondering about the source of his magic. It felt as old if not older than Arian's. Up until now, he'd never sensed this kind of age in anyone aside from  _Asha'bellanar_ herself. He moved just far enough to let the Mage know that the barrier wasn't what was truly holding him back.

" _We are known as Strezark, and this" –_ he pointed to his companion with his snout –  _"is Sten."_

"Please, Strezark," the girl said, "…we have no quarrel with you. Solas said you are a Darkspawn, but…"

" _Darkspawn" –_ he snapped with an angry snort and a shake of his head.  _"Is that all you can see? Look closer, Elfling."_ With that, he touched her thoughts and projected several memories of their past together. She gasped and backed up a few steps, her face going pale. First, he showed her a dank dungeon – a place filled with sadness and suffering. Templars were surrounding an elven girl with black hair and purging her of her mana, Silencing and hitting her as they wrapped her arms and legs in chains. Lashes of a whip. Tortured screams. Blood covering the walls. Then, morning. Shivering and curled up on the floor, the girl looked out through the bars in a window. A dark shape appeared behind her and whispered of freedom.

"Stop," she groaned, mentally pushing him away. The human warrior spared her a sidelong glance, not daring to look away from Sten long enough to assist her.

"What's wrong, Arianwen?" he asked. She shook her head in response.

"Are  _you_  showing me those images?" she demanded with a glare. "What are they?"

" _Your memories, Elfling. And Ours. We made a contract, and We aim to see it fulfilled. A great evil has awakened us from our eternal slumber" –_ he glanced at Sten – _"and we must confront it if we hope to restore order to this realm."_

"A great evil?" She pursed her lips. "Surely you don't mean the explosion at the Conclave." Sten moved in response to her words, shifting his weight between his feet.

"It's possible," he said.

"Then…" she looked hopeful. "Then we should be allies. We, too, aim to seal the Breach."

" _The tear in the sky..."_

"Yes."

" _There is more at work here than you realize" –_ Strezark warned. He glanced pointedly at her hand. " _We know of the mark. We have heard of it on our way here. Yet, it is not why we came."_ He watched her bring her hand to her chest.

"Why are you searching for me if not for this mark?" She tilted her head to the side. "Those images I saw. That was…"

" _If you are truly the Warden, then you should have heard it by now" –_ he interjected. " _Either you've chosen to ignore it, or Our instinct is correct and the taint has been taken from you."_

"Heard what, exactly?" the Mage spoke up, his grey eyes filled to the brim with disapproval.

" _The Calling…"_ Strezark bared his fangs when his reply earned him three blank stares. He expected that the human and elf wouldn't know what it was, for Grey Wardens guarded their secrets jealously. But, the girl. The girl should have known, at least. That word used to mean much to her. Arian's voice floated to him on a breeze of memory.

 _The Calling terrifies me –_ she'd confided in him once.  _It frightens me more than facing Darkspawn or the Archdemon. Once I hear the Calling, I will go alone into the darkness and die a dog's death in the Deep Roads. Where is the glory in that?_

"What's the Calling?" the girl before him raised a brow.

" _You truly do not know?"_ He waited for recognition to glimmer in her eyes, and when nothing came, he felt his heart wither just a little.

So, this really  _wasn't_ Arian.

" _When a Grey Warden hears the Calling, it is said that it is their time to die. They travel to the Deep Roads and find their end there."_

"And you thought I would hear this?"

" _It was a theory. We have heard it, and thus logic dictates that you should have as well. However, We are not the only ones. Grey Wardens have begun to disappear all over the countryside. Even the one you gave your life to save is now gone…"_

"Gave my life?" she echoed. "I don't know what you speak of." Strezark looked at her for a long time in silence, wondering how much he should reveal. This wasn't Arian. That much was clear. Yet, she was tied to her in some way. Her appearance couldn't be a coincidence. The human warrior had even called her by the same name. He couldn't understand what was happening or how any of this was possible. All he knew was that he needed this girl's help to find out the truth. When he answered her question, his voice was low, calmer than before. He did not speak of this lightly.

" _You made him forget – made all of those who knew the truth forget. All except us" –_ he gestured to Sten. The Qunari gave a slow nod of acknowledgement. " _Yet, something happened that unraveled the threads of fate that you have woven. You were slain. We felt it as your life was snuffed out. Thus, your spell is broken, and now they are starting to remember."_

"That still doesn't explain anything…" she frowned.

" _You must recast the spell, or everything We have worked for will be lost. The country will fall into ruin. Rumors will soon spread of his disappearance."_

"What disappearance?" the human warrior cut in with a scowl. Strezark kept his gaze on Arian as he spoke, watching for her reaction.

" _Your former lover and the King of Ferelden."_

* * *

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That night, none of them slept. Though a shaky truce had been reached between them, Solas couldn't bring himself to let his guard down even for a moment. He wasn't trusting to begin with, and the Blightwolf had a demeanor that was far from amiable. With his scarred features, venom-coated fangs, and razor sharp claws, he looked like something out of a nightmare. Solas couldn't shake the feeling that the beast was biding his time to make an attack. And the aura around him…he shuddered. It was as cold as death. He looked down, watching as Cole fiddled with some loose pebbles on the ground.

"Can't you tell what he's thinking?" Solas inquired in a low whisper. Cole paused in his fidgeting and blinked up at him.

"He's quiet...like the sky before a storm. Quiet like the wind moving high above the earth. There are no thoughts - only existence."

"What is he?"

"Enemy. Friend. Companion. Protector. Many things. But, old. Above everything, he feels as old as the Fade." Cole's words didn't reassure Solas in the least. In fact, they made him even more suspicious. As old as the Fade? Cole spoke in winding riddles, but that particular phrase didn't sound like a metaphor for anything else.

He wasn't the only one who felt uncomfortable with their new guests. Solas's gaze meandered to the other side of the cavern, where the Commander and the Qunari were exchanging frigid stares. If it wasn't for Arianwen's insistence that they try to avoid fighting, he was certain that the Commander would have been at the Qunari's throat. The pair of warriors seemed to declare a silent cold war between themselves. They hadn't spoken a word to each other, but the tension between them was palpable. They stayed on opposite sides of the cavern, both brooding with their arms crossed over their chests and their weapons within reach. He knew for a fact that Cullen disapproved of the Blightwolf, just as Solas did. Occasionally, he threw scowls in his and Arianwen's direction.

Strezark didn't leave the girl's side the entire night. How Arianwen was comfortable with being around something so monstrous was beyond his understanding. Though he couldn't hear anything, he knew that she was communicating with him, for every few moments, she would nod or frown. The creature made sure that only she could hear his voice as he relayed more information about the situation to her. Solas still couldn't reconcile what Strezark had revealed earlier. His words were a tangle of knots and winding paths that his mind couldn't follow. The beast knew her from the past, and if Solas had understood him correctly, his story put Arianwen in the middle of the events of the Fifth Blight over a decade ago. If what he said was the truth, then that meant that Arianwen should be dead. So how had she walked out of the rift at the Breach?

Something didn't add up.

He'd read some things about the Hero of Ferelden and her great deeds, but from what he could recall, she was said to be a human noblewoman. Once, he had even walked the Fade around Ostagar and witnessed the battle with his own eyes. It was a battle that set many other world-changing events into motion. What part did Arianwen play in that great cataclysm? Strezark seemed to believe that she was a Grey Warden. In the same breath, he claimed that he could feel no taint within her blood. How was that possible? One didn't simply cure the taint or wake up without it one morning. No matter what the powers of his orb had done to her memory, they couldn't have affected that.

As he rekindled the dying fire with his magic, he recalled the things Arianwen had mumbled in her delirium after she first stepped out of the rift. Now that he had new information, some of the pieces started to come together.

_The taint isn't mine, though the duty always will be…_

_Where is the Archdemon? I split him with my blades. I tore through him and drove him away…_

Piece by piece, he recounted what she'd murmured in her sleep. From that, he could form a vague picture - a theory that was as tentative as an unfinished painting. During the Fifth Blight, Arianwen had fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden against the Archdemon and its Darkspawn horde. Strezark mentioned that she and the King were lovers. During the final battle, she must have been killed. So why, then, had he never read about her in any records? Someone important enough to be the King's lover and help fight against the Archdemon  _had_ to have made it into the history books  _somewhere_.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the Commander moved from his position for the first time in hours. When he padded over to Solas, the elf felt himself tense.

"Solas…"

"Commander," he answered in a brisk and indifferent tone. For a while, the human stood next to him without saying a word, his aura pulsing with tension. Solas wanted to move away. He hadn't forgotten their argument. They'd both spat some hateful things at each other in the heat of the moment. At length, Cullen motioned for Solas to follow him outside. He was hesitant to leave Arianwen alone with Strezark and Sten, but he reasoned that they wouldn't harm her. Whatever the Commander had to say, it was likely important.

Solas summoned a flame in his palm when they stepped outside. The fierce storm from earlier had died down overnight. Now, only a trickle of light snow remained. He watched with no small measure of amusement as his human companion sank into the ankle-deep snow while he padded lightly over it. The skies had cleared, allowing a full and unobstructed view of the moon. On the horizon, he could see the silhouette of the Frostback Mountains and evidence of the rising sun. They'd been awake all night.

The Commander didn't go far from the mouth of the cave. He stopped just a few paces away and looked back, his demeanor decidedly nervous. Solas supposed that whatever he had to tell him needed to be kept out of earshot of those inside the cavern. He almost expected for him to rekindle their earlier disagreement or say something about his oversight of the dangers posed by the presence of Strezark and Sten. Something insulting, surely. This anticipation soured his already foul mood, and when Cullen found a place for them to stop, Solas found himself doing his best to keep from scowling.

"I brought you out here to hear your opinion," the Commander confessed unexpectedly. He didn't look directly at Solas, but the Mage still saw his expression. "Despite our differences, I know a wise man when I see one." He sighed and rubbed at his temples. "I can't make heads or tails of this situation." The vulnerability on the man's face surprised him so much that he found himself answering before he could check his reply:

"Neither can I," Solas admitted. His pride snarled at his carelessness. How could he have admitted to something like that so easily? He watched the Commander's face with care now, predicting that he would use Solas's honesty against him. However, no such reaction was forthcoming. Cullen scratched the back of his neck with a grimace.

"It's almost more than I can take in. First, I physically walk through the Fade and survive, then Arianwen transports us somewhere on the outskirts of Haven by opening a rift. We trek through a storm and find shelter against all odds, only to encounter a Darkspawn who speaks telepathically and a Qunari, both of whom claim that Arianwen has somehow come back from the dead. The Blightwolf goes on to say something about Grey Wardens and a Calling. And now, they declare that the King himself is missing and that Arianwen was...involved with him..." He stopped there, trailing off with a hard look.

"It is rather improbable, isn't it?" Solas agreed with a quirk of his lips. When put that way, none of this seemed real. "You said you wanted my opinion?"

"Yes. I believe we should get back to Haven as soon as possible. The Inquisition should be our first priority. Arianwen said there were survivors of the attack, and we can't just abandon them because of this lest it all falls apart. The Breach is what we must focus on."

"Once again, Commander, you make a logical argument." He couldn't deny that Cullen was a reasonable man. A touch vindictive, perhaps, and ignorant to some of the truths of the world, but responsible and honorable nonetheless. Solas let out a small breath, forcing himself to relinquish the remnants of their earlier squabble and all the feelings left over from it. There was no room for such petty things now.

"What do you think we should do?" Cullen asked, still not meeting Solas's gaze. It was his way of apologizing, Solas realized. The Commander was a proud man, and he could see how apologizing directly for anything wasn't in his nature, especially since he firmly believed in his own convictions. In that sense, they weren't so different. Perhaps that might have seemed foolish to some, but Solas was impressed that Cullen would set aside his own predispositions for the good of the whole.

"Returning to Haven is a good proposition, Commander. Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine will know the most about contacting Denerim and finding out if what those two say about the King is the truth." His eyes narrowed. "That is assuming they haven't already left with the survivors." At the Commander's questioning look, he told him about what happened at the tower - how Arianwen left alone to light a signal so that the villagers could escape.

"Leliana would want to lead them to Redcliffe," the Commander nodded. "We must try Haven first. Perhaps they haven't left yet."

Solas nodded. "The problem lies with those two," he gestured towards the cave. "Will they follow? Or will they try to push their own agenda?"

"We should be prepared either way," Cullen agreed. "Let's not tarry here too long lest they suspect something is amiss." They turned around and headed back inside. Solas's eyes lingered on the Commander's determined stature. For a human, he was surprisingly unpredictable and less inclined to view the world only on his own terms. Not only that, but on several occasions, he displayed a certain disregard for his own life where others were concerned. Back at Haven, he'd stayed behind to allow others to escape. Solas struggled to understand the reasoning behind such a sacrifice. As a Commander, he could accomplish much more had he stayed alive to lead his people. Just like Arianwen's willingness to give up her life for a few stragglers, Cullen's decision was selfless and noble, but it wasn't logical. Was it that similarity between them that irked him so? Or was it something else?

When they shuffled back into the cave, Solas saw that Arianwen and Strezark hadn't moved. She was saying something to him in a tone that was too low to hear. It was frustrating, seeing them like this. Seeing her place so much trust in a stranger wasn't pleasant. Whatever the creature had to say, it wasn't good. Arianwen's face had taken on a pale hue. A voice of reason whispered that this was exactly what he'd feared would happen. This beast was corrupting her, changing her. Who knew what ideas he was putting in her head? What if she decided that she wanted to leave with him and the Qunari? What if she decided that the Breach was no longer the biggest threat? What if she remembered her past?

He couldn't let her do that.

He could let the orb out of his sight.

He  _wouldn't_.

But, how would he stop her? There was no guarantee that she would listen to him, and he had no plans of revealing the full truth to her just yet. What was that beast saying to her? She looked exhausted and frightened, two things that did not sit well with him. Deciding that it was best to separate them, Solas walked over to Arianwen. Strezark looked up when he got close.

"Solas," she murmured.

"We need to leave in a few hours," he warned. "You should rest before we press on."

"The storm will come back, and you're worried we won't make it to Haven," she stated, intuitive as ever. "Don't worry, Solas. I want to go back to the others." She looked over at the Blightwolf and gave him a smile. Solas felt his chest tighten. "Strezark, is it alright if I speak to Solas alone for a while?"

" _As you wish, Elfling"_  - the creature tipped his head in acquiescence, stood up, and padded over to the Qunari. Solas watched him go, not certain if he was more shocked or suspicious. How had the girl gotten him to be so agreeable in such a short amount of time? He'd been certain that Strezark would pose the biggest threat to their plans, yet…

"Solas," Arianwen whispered, grabbing the hem of his robe. The determination in her eyes gave him pause. He suddenly wished he could sense what she was thinking, what she was feeling. What had the beast revealed to her? Had she remembered anything? As he sat down beside her, Arianwen leaned in closer. "I know why Cullen wanted to speak with you. I could sense his nervousness from across the cavern. I know you two are suspicious of Strezark and Sten, but I think their intentions are good."

"And how did you come to this conclusion?" Solas pursed his lips.

"Strezark has been telling me things...about the past...about...me."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes...he can...show me things. In my mind. Memories..."

"It could be a trick."

"It isn't," she insisted, and he understood that arguing with her about would be pointless. "It's real, though I wonder how it could have been..."

"You are you, Arianwen. What happened in the past is - "

"It doesn't sound like me," she cut in, her words flowing out in a rush now. "This woman they call Arian...she sounds like a stranger. Could it really have been me?" Sadness trailed in on the heels of her words, ringing out in every syllable. "I am not a great woman like her. I can't believe I could have done some of the things that she did."

"What do you want me to tell you?" he asked.

"You know so much of magic. You've seen things that most only dream of. If there's anyone who could tell me if it's possible that I was this woman once...you could." Her eyes, filled to the brim with earnest hope and trust, pierced his chest like twin arrows. What would it mean if he told her that it  _was_ possible? Would it change her somehow? Would she try to become someone else - her past self? Would the innocence and purity disappear from her expression?

"It's difficult to say," he replied after some time. It wasn't a lie. He couldn't be sure if such a thing was possible, but after what had happened with her and the orb, he couldn't discount anything. For now, however, he chose to remain neutral in his response.

"I want to know," her hands clenched together in her lap. He hated to see her so conflicted. In the firelight, the dark smudges beneath her eyes seemed even darker and more pronounced. He suppressed an impulse to touch her face, knowing that it was better to keep as much distance between them as possible. It wouldn't do for him to feel such attachment to her. She was the orb. Perhaps one day, he would be forced to make a choice between her and the fate of Thedas. When that time came, he couldn't afford a clouded mind.

"You look tired,  _da'len_ ," he observed. "Perhaps you should sleep for a while before we depart." He wanted to say something else, but all words flew out of his head when she lay down and rested her head against his thigh. His body went rigid, his spine stiffening. "What are you doing?" he asked past his constricted throat.

"You're warm," she sighed. Solas couldn't help it. His head immediately swiveled towards the Commander. He wasn't sure what he expected. Anger? An irritated glare? Why, though? It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong. There wasn't anything untoward about this, yet the position was undoubtedly one of a certain kind of intimacy. And even if there was, why should it matter what the Commander thought of this? She wasn't his; Arianwen belonged to no one but herself.

This position made him look vulnerable, he decided, and he didn't want anyone to see him this way. Not the two strangers, and especially not the Commander. Fortunately, Cullen had closed his eyes and appeared to be dozing lightly on his feet. Solas's lips thinned into a tense line.

"Perhaps it would be better if - "

"I'm making you uncomfortable," she frowned. "I'm sorry." She didn't know; she had no idea what havoc she was causing. This was dangerous. But...hadn't he wanted to preserve this innocence? When she made to move away, he stopped her.

 _It's alright. You can stay -_ he wanted to tell her, but the words never left his mouth. If they had, it would be an official acceptance of her actions, permission for them to grow closer somehow. That was something he couldn't allow. They couldn't grow closer; they couldn't cross any more boundaries. He had to keep her at arm's length. In her usual fashion, she seemed to read his mind. Without him saying anything, she knew what he intended and remained where she was. After a time, her eyelids drooped down and Solas was able to relax somewhat.

"She was an amazing person," came her sleepy murmur. "Strezark was her friend...Sten, too. They fought together. She was…" Her eyes closed. A spot of heat built where her face rested against him. Her long, inky black hair draped over his leg, a few strands brushing against his knuckles. It was as soft as he'd imagined, and he had to use all of his willpower not to run his fingers through the length of it.

"She was…?" Solas echoed, wanting to hear the rest and hoping to keep his thoughts away from places they shouldn't go. She didn't open her eyes to answer him.

"...was a hero…"

"If she fought beside the Hero of Ferelden, then I'm certain she was," he replied. Still without opening her eyes, she shook her head.

"...didn't fight with her…" she mumbled.

"What was that,  _da'len_?"

"She didn't fight beside her. She  _was_ her."

"Who?"

"Arian...she  _was_ the Hero of Ferelden."

* * *

.

.

.

.

In the darkness of the night, Alistair Theirin stood transfixed as he stared at a painting in his room. It was a portrait that had hung on his wall for over a decade, practically since the first few months after his coronation. There, painted with finest oils by the hands of the most talented of artists, a woman with fiery red hair and forest-green eyes stood beside a large black Mabari war hound. She was dressed in Grey Warden finery, a pair of ornate daggers sheathed in a leather belt around her waist. Beside her rested a large tower shield with the Cousland crest.

On most occasions, Alistair found himself looking at her portrait and wishing that she hadn't sacrificed her life for their cause. They'd been close and had shared many perils and adventures together. She was his best friend, and a woman he deeply respected. He'd always wondered if he could have done more to save her. Today, however, he stared at the painting for a different reason. In fact, it was the same reason that, for the past three weeks, had made him feel that he might be losing his mind.

Recently, he could have sworn that he could see the painting move when he passed it. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but when the phenomenon started repeating itself, he ordered the servants to move the painting into his bedroom. He didn't want anyone to see how hypnotized he was by the painted face. Bad enough that he spent so much time staring at it that it was starting to become unhealthy. He found himself waiting eagerly for his duties to end so that he could come here and look at the painting. Now, he stroked the ridges of oil and color, willing it to come to life again.

Before his disbelieving and eager eyes, the portrait shifted. What had begun as a few changes in details now ended with a staggering difference in the girl's appearance. Instead of the red-haired human beauty, an elf girl with plum black hair and hypnotic golden eyes looked out through the canvas at him. Complex markings inked themselves across her forehead and on the tops of her cheeks. Her skin darkened and became a light tan. The Mabari hound at her side transformed, growing larger and shaggier until it became a massive Blightwolf covered in scars and missing one eye.

The amulet that appeared around her neck caught his attention. It was the same amulet he now wore. Ever since the death of the Hero of Ferelden, he'd worn it every day in memory of her. In a strange and unexplained way, it comforted him. It almost made him feel like his friend was still with him, watching over him. For a long time, he'd been certain that it was a gift from Elissa, but now he couldn't be sure. The normal portraits of her didn't depict her wearing this amulet. Yet the girl in the picture now was pressing her fingers to it as though it meant something to her. The look on her face was wistful and shadowed.

 _Remember me -_ Alistair's eyes widened when the painting moved. The girl looked up at him, her lips moving silently.  _Alistair…_

His blood felt as though it caught fire. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped away from the painting. Sweat coated his brow, and his breathing came in short bursts. He felt as though he'd been running, for his heart was racing too. What was wrong with him? It was just this painting. Lately, everywhere he turned, he saw this elf's face. Those eyes were unforgettable. Where had he seen her before, and why was she plaguing his dreams and haunting his steps? Even in public, he wasn't safe from these illusions. Just a few days past, he could have sworn that he saw her among his courtiers. While the ballroom moved in ebbs and flows, she stood still, as though time itself had no effect on her.

People closer to him were beginning to notice his unusual behavior. Teagan, who had planned to visit Denerim for some time to discuss the current troubles in Thedas, had even postponed urgent business on his lands because of a concerned letter from Eamon. The Arl sent a letter explaining that he was on his way and was supposed to arrive in just a few days. Eamon was convinced that he was suffering from exhaustion and was overworking himself, but Alistair knew that wasn't the case. This was something else. His mind was trying to remember something. But, what? What could he have forgotten that was so important? Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just getting sick. His muscles had been aching all day as though from a fever.

He moved to his writing desk, observing the pile of paperwork there with a certain sense of dread. He'd always hated this part about being King. Not that he'd ever particularly been fond of any part of the idea of ruling, but he supposed he'd grown into it over the years. There were still plenty of opportunities to laugh and take things not-so-seriously, and despite the headache that this tendency and his less-than-perfect diplomatic skills caused his Ambassadors on a daily basis, he supposed it was enough to keep him sane. Remembering his most recent slip-up during a meeting with said Ambassadors with a smile, Alistair picked up a letter from Elissa's brother, Fergus. Tearing open the wax seal on the fine parchment, he skimmed over the words. It was the last part that made him frown:

… _.Unfortunately, we cannot send any soldiers to Denerim now. Our lands have been plagued by demons ever since the Conclave. If anything, we are the ones who need reinforcements. I have written to the Grey Wardens in the hopes that they will be able to assist us. After all, the sacrifice that my sister made isn't one lightly set aside…_

The Grey Wardens. Elissa Cousland had certainly done them all proud. Regrettably, he'd known only a few in his lifetime. Aside from Elissa, his friend Duncan was a Warden and had also sacrificed much during the Blight. He'd always wondered what it would be like to be a Grey Warden, traveling the land and keeping everyone safe from dark forces and taint. His half-brother, Cailan, had died believing in their greatness. He'd been enchanted by the tales of their selflessness. Perhaps it ran in the family.

 _That life must be more thrilling than skimming paperwork, attending fancy parties, and sitting on a throne all day -_ he mused. Strange that he could hardly remember anything before the events at Ostagar. Sometimes, he couldn't even recall how and where he'd met Duncan. The ordeal he and Elissa went through at Ostagar was traumatic and life-altering. Perhaps his mind had simply chosen to block out certain events. He'd heard stories of veterans of war who struggled with their memory at times. He'd always accepted the theory that he simply suffered from trauma, but these recent events made him question what truly lay at the heart of the blank spots in his recollections.

Alistair grimaced when a headache suddenly made his skull feel like it was on fire. He groaned and set the letter aside. His hand fumbled around for the bottle of wine he kept around for just such emergencies, but as soon as he found it, he put it aside. Just thinking of putting something in his stomach made him nauseous. Perhaps he really was ill. He thought to ring for a servant to fetch a physician but changed his mind when the pain worsened. He stumbled over to his bed, thinking that some rest might alleviate the strange symptoms. He couldn't afford to be sick - not now, when so much rested on his shoulders.

As he peeled back the silken white sheets and tossed aside too many pillows - why did the servants insist on showering his bed with them? - something in the corner of his vision startled him. He turned his head and saw his ornate full length mirror. He blinked at the copy of himself framed in gold carvings of lions and griffins. For a split second, his reflection was replaced by the elven girl with golden eyes. When he blinked again, she reappeared. Only this time, she stayed and beckoned for him to come closer. He was helpless to do anything but obey. In front of the mirror, he reached out to touch her image, bewildered and confused. She wore the same Grey Warden armor as Elissa - the same daggers around her hips.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes falling to the amulet around her neck.

 _Remember me -_ she mouthed voicelessly, touching her fingers to the necklace. Something moved behind him, but he was too transfixed by the girl's eyes to look and see what it was.

_Remember..._

"Why? Who  _are_ you?"

_Remember me…_

Alistair gasped when the back of his head exploded in pain. Dizziness assailed him, and he dropped to his knees then to his side. On the way down, he hit the mirror with his arm. When he looked up, he saw that it was tilted so he could still see himself in it. The girl had vanished like a ghost. Goosebumps ridged up his arms and torso. The man staring back at him looked terrible. His hair was mussed and his jaw unshaven. His skin was pasty and colorless. His gaze looked dull and listless. He thought to try and stand, but then something happened that paralyzed him with shock and fear.

His eyes, which were normally a fickle hazel, changed. Color drained from them as though through a funnel until they turned a shimmering silver - the hue of grey metal in sunlight. He jerked when he heard movement behind him again. His eyes focused past his reflection's shoulder in the mirror, and his breath froze. A pair of glowing red eyes flickered in the darkness. Something huge and shadowy appeared from behind his bed. Alistair tried to turn, but the reflection had him mesmerized once again. As he fought against its hold, the shape stepped into the light of the candles, revealing a hairy black snout, ghastly scars, and rows of elongated sharp fangs.

"Maker," he whispered. "What are you?"

 _Remember everything -_ the creature snarled in his mind right as it opened its jaws and clamped them around Alistair's throat.


End file.
